LIFTED  MASKS 


LIFTED    MASKS 

STORIES  BY 
SUSAN  GLASPELL 

Author  of  "  The  Glory  of  the  Conquered," 
"The  Visioning"  etc. 


LOFTIER  THAN  THE  WORLD  SUSPECTS." 

— Robert   Browning 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


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September,  IQI2 


THE   MEMORY   OF   MY   FRIEND 
JENNIE   PRESTON 


9IS757 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I  "ONE  OF  THOSE  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICANS"     .        1 

II     THE    PLEA 26 

III  FOR    LOVE    OF    THE    HILLS 41 

IV  FRECKLES  M'GRATH 57 

V     FROM  A  TO  Z 71 

VI  THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD      .      .      .    101 

VII  How  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     .      .      .120 

VIII     THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES 136 

IX     "OUT    THERE" 149 

X     THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE 173 

XI     His  AMERICA 190 

XII  THE   ANARCHIST:   His  DOG     ...           .    215 

XIII  AT  TWILIGHT    .                                                   .240 


LIFTED  MASKS 


"ONE  OF   THOSE   IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICANS" 

N'AVEZ-VOUS  PAS—"  she  was  bravely 
demanding  of  the  clerk  when  she  saw 
that  the  bulky  American  who  was  standing 
there  helplessly  dangling  two  flaming  red  silk 
stockings  which  a  copiously  coiffured  young  woman 
assured  him  were  bien  chic  was  edging  nearer 
her.  She  was  never  so  conscious  of  the  truly  Amer 
ican  quality  of  her  French  as  when  a  countryman 
was  at  hand.  The  French  themselves  had  an  air  of 
"  How  marvellously  you  speak ! "  but  fellow  Amer 
icans  listened  superciliously  in  an  "  I  can  do  better 
than  that  myself "  manner  which  quite  untied  the 
Gallic  twist  in  one's  tongue.  And  so,  feeling  her 
French  was  being  compared,  not  with  mere  French 
itself,  but  with  an  arrogant  new  American  brand 
thereof,  she  moved  a  little  around  the  corner  of  the 
counter  and  began  again  in  lower  voice :  "  Mais, 
n'avez  — " 

"  Say,  Young  Lady,"  a  voice  which  adequately 
represented  the  figure  broke  in,  "  you  aren't  French, 
are  you?  " 

She  looked  up  with  what  was  designed  for  a 
haughty  stare.  But  what  is  a  haughty  stare  to  do 


%  LIFTED  MASKS 

IP  the  face  of  a  broad  grin?  And  because  it  was 
such  a  long  time  sin^e  a  grin  like  that  had  been 
grinned  aj;  her  ?t  .happened  that  the  stare  gave  way 
to  a  dimple,  and  the  dimple  to  a  laughing :  "  Is  it 
so  bad  as  that?  " 

"  Oh,  not  your  French,"  he  assured  her.  "  You 
talk  it  just  like  the  rest  of  them.  In  fact,  I  should 
say,  if  anything  —  a  little  more  so.  But  do  you 
know,"  —  confidentially  —  "I  can  just  spot  an 
American  girl  every  time !  " 

"How?"  she  could  not  resist  asking,  and  the 
modest  black  hose  she  was  thinking  of  purchasing 
dangled  against  his  gorgeous  red  ones  in  friendliest 
fashion. 

"  Well,  Sir  —  I  don't  know.  I  don't  think  it  can 
be  the  clothes" — judicially  surveying  her. 

"  The  clothes,"  murmured  Virginia,  "  were  bought 
in  Paris." 

"Well,  you've  got  me.  Maybe  it's  the  way  you 
wear  'em.  Maybe  it's  'cause  you  look  as  if  you 
used  to  play  tag  with  your  brother.  Something  — 
anyhow  —  gives  a  fellow  that  *  By  j  ove  there's  an 
American  girl ! '  feeling  when  he  sees  you  coming 
round  the  corner." 

"  But  why  —  ?  " 

"  Lord  —  don't  begin  on  why.  You  can  say  why 
to  anything.  Why  don't  the  French  talk  English? 
Why  didn't  they  lay  Paris  out  at  right  angles? 
Now  look  here,  Young  Lady,  for  that  matter  why 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "  3 

can't  you  help  me  buy  some  presents  for  my  wife? 
There'd  be  nothing  wrong  about  it,"  he  hastened 
to  assure  her,  "  because  my  wife's  a  mighty  fine 
woman." 

The  very  small  American  looked  at  the  very  large 
one.  Now  Virginia  was  a  well  brought  up  young 
woman.  Her  conversations  with  strange  men  had 
been  confined  to  such  things  as,  "  Will  you  please 
tell  me  the  nearest  way  to  — ?  "  but  preposterously 
enough  —  she  could  not  for  the  life  of  her  have  told 
why  —  frowning  upon  this  huge  American  —  fat 
was  the  literal  word — -who  stood  there  with  puck- 
ered-up  face  swinging  the  flaming  hose  would  seem 
in  the  same  shameful  class  with  snubbing  the  little 
boy  who  confidently  asked  her  what  kind  of  ribbon  to 
buy  for  his  mother. 

"  Was  it  for  your  wife  you  were  thinking  of  buy 
ing  these  red  stockings  ?  "  she  ventured. 

"  Sure.  What  do  you  think  of  'em?  Look  as  if 
they  came  from  Paris  all  right,  don't  they?  " 

"  Oh,  they  look  as  though  they  came  from  Paris, 
all  right,"  Virginia  repeated,  a  bit  grimly.  "  But  do 
you  know  " —  this  quite  as  to  that  little  boy  who 
might  be  buying  the  ribbon — "American  women 
don't  always  care  for  all  the  things  that  look  as  if 
they  came  from  Paris.  Is  your  wife  —  does  she 
care  especially  for  red  stockings  ?  " 

"  Don't  believe  she  ever  had  a  pair  in  her  life. 
That's  why  I  thought  it  might  please  her." 


4  LIFTED  MASKS 

Virginia  looked  down  and  away.  There  were 
times  when  dimples  made  things  hard  for  one. 

Then  she  said,  with  gentle  gravity :  "  There  are 
quite  a  number  of  women  in  America  who  don't  care 
much  for  red  stockings.  It  would  seem  too  bad, 
wouldn't  it,  if  after  you  got  these  clear  home  your 
wife  should  turn  out  to  be  one  of  those  people? 
Now,  I  think  these  grey  stockings  are  lovely.  I'm 
sure  any  woman  would  love  them.  She  could  wear 
them  with  grey  suede  slippers  and  they  would  be  so 
soft  and  pretty." 

"Urn  —  not  very  lively  looking,  are  they?  You 
see  I  want  something  to  cheer  her  up.  She  —  well 
she's  not  been  very  well  lately  and  I  thought  some 
thing  —  oh  something  with  a  lot  of  dash  in  it,  you 
know,  would  just  fill  the  bill.  But  look  here.  We'll 
take  both.  Sure  —  that's  the  way  out  of  it.  If 
she  don't  like  the  red,  she'll  like  the  grey,  and  if  she 
don't  like  the  —  You  like  the  grey  ones,  don't  you? 
Then  here  "  —  picking  up  two  pairs  of  the  hand 
somely  embroidered  grey  stockings  and  handing 
them  to  the  clerk  — "  One,"  holding  up  his  thumb 
to  denote  one  — "  me,"  —  a  vigorous  pounding  of  the 
chest  signifying  me.  "  One  "  —  holding  up  his  fore 
finger  and  pointing  to  the  girl  — "  mademoiselle." 

"  Oh  no  —  no  —  no !  "  cried  Virginia,  her  face 
instantly  the  colour  of  the  condemned  stockings. 
Then,  standing  straight :  "  Certainly  not." 

"  No  ?  Just  as  you  say,"  he  replied  good  humour- 


«  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "  5 

edly.  "  Like  to  have  you  have  'em.  Seems  as  if 
strangers  in  a  strange  land  oughtn't  to  stand  on 
ceremony." 

The  clerk  was  bending  forward  holding  up  the 
stockings  alluringly.  "  Pour  mademoiselle,  n'est- 
ce-pas?  " 

"  Mais  —  non!  "  pronounced  Virginia,  with  em 
phasis. 

There  followed  an  untranslatable  gesture.  "  How 
droll ! "  shoulder  and  outstretched  hands  were 
saying.  "  If  the  kind  gentleman  wishes  to  give 
mademoiselle  the  joli  bos  — /  " 

His  face  had  puckered  up  again.  Then  sudden 
ly  it  unpuckered.  "  Tell  you  what  you  might  do," 
he  solved  it.  "  Just  take  'em  along  and  send  them 
to  your  mother.  Now  your  mother  might  be  real 
glad  to  have  'em." 

Virginia  stared.  And  then  an  awful  thing  hap 
pened.  What  she  was  thinking  about  was  the  letter 
she  could  send  with  the  stockings.  "  Mother  dear," 
she  would  write,  "  as  I  stood  at  the  counter  buying 
myself  some  stockings  to-day  alongj  came  a  nice  man 
—  a  stranger  to  me,  but  very  kind  and  jolly  — •  and 
gave  me  — " 

There  it  was  that  the  awful  thing  happened.  Her 
dimple  was  showing  — '•  and  at  thought  of  its  showing 
she  could  not  keep  it  from  showing !  And  how  could 
she  explain  why  it  was  showing  without  its  going  on 
showing?  And  how — ? 


6  LIFTED  MASKS 

But  at  that  moment  her  gaze  fell  upon  the  clerk, 
who  had  taken  the  dimple  as  signal  to  begin  putting 
the  stockings  in  a  box.  The  Frenchwoman's  eye 
brows  soon  put  that  dimple  in  its  proper  place. 
"  And  so  the  petite  Americavne  was  not  too  —  oh, 
not  too  — "  those  French  eyebrows  were  saying. 

All  in  an  instant  Virginia  was  something  quite  dif 
ferent  from  a  little  girl  with  a  dimple.  "  You  are 
very  kind,"  she  was  saying,  and  her  mother  herself 
could  have  done  it  no  better,!  "  but  I  am  sure  our  lit 
tle  joke  had  gone  quite  far  enough.  I  bid  you  good- 
morning."  And  with  that  she  walked  regally  over 
to  the  glove  counter,  leaving  red  and  grey  and  black 
hosiery  to  their  own  destinies. 

"  I  loathe  them  when  their  eyebrows  go  up,"  she 
fumed.  "  Now  his  weren't  going  up  —  not  even  in 
his  mind." 

She  could  not  keep  from  worrying  about  him. 
"They'll  just  '  do '  him,"  she  was  sure.  "And 
then  laugh  at  him  in  the  bargain.  A  man  like  that 
has  no  business  to  be  let  loose  in  a  store  all  by  him 
self." 

And  sure  enough,  a  half  hour  later  she  came  upon 
him  up  in  the  dress  department.  Three  of  them  had 
gathered  round  to  "  do  "  him.  They  were  making 
rapid  headway,  their  smiling  deference  scantily  con- 
cealing  their  amused  contempt.  The  spectacle  in 
furiated  Virginia.  "  They  just  think  they  can 
Work  us ! "  she  stormed.  "  They  think  we're  easy* 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "  7 

I  suppose  they  think  he's  a  fool.  I  just  wish  they 
could  get  him  in  a  business  deal!  I  just  wish  — !" 

"  I  can  assure  you,  sir,"  the  English-speaking  man 
ager  of  the  department  was  saying,  "  that  this  gar 
ment  is  a  wonderful  value.  We  are  able  to  let  you 
have  it  at  so  absurdly  low  a  figure  because  —  " 

Virginia  did  not  catch  why  it  was  they  were  able 
to  let  him  have  it  at  so  absurdly  low  a  figure,  but 
she  did  see  him  wipe  his  brow  and  look  helplessly 
around.  "  Poor  thing"  she  murmured,  almost  ten 
derly,  "  he  doesn't  know  what  to  do.  He  just  does 
need  somebody  to  look  after  him."  She  stood  there 
looking  at  his  back.  He  had  a  back  a  good  deal 
like  the  back  of  her  chum's  father  at  home.  Indeed 
there  were  various  things  about  him  suggested 
"home."  Did  one  want  one's  own  jeered  at? 
One  might  see  crudities  one's  self,  but  was  one  going 
to  have  supercilious  outsiders  coughing  those  sham 
coughs  behind  their  hypocritical  hands? 

"  For  seven  hundred  francs,"  she  heard  the  suave 
voice  saying. 

Seven  hundred  -francs!  Virginia's  national  pride, 
or,  more  accurately,  her  national  rage,  was  lashed  in 
to  action.  It  was  with  very  red  cheeks  that  the 
small  American  stepped  stormily  to  the  rescue  of 
her  countryman. 

"  Seven  hundred  francs  for  that ?  "  she  jeered, 
right  in  the  face  of  the  enraged  manager  and  stif 
fening  clerks.  "Seven  hundred  francs  —  indeed! 


8  LIFTED  MASKS 

Last  year's  model  —  a  hideous  colour,  and  " —  pick 
ing  it  up,  running  it  through  her  fingers  and  tossing 
it  contemptuously  aside  —  "  abominable  stuff !  " 

"  Gee,  but  I'm  grateful  to  you ! "  he  breathed, 
again  wiping  his  brow.  "  You  know,  I  was  a  little 
leery  of  it  myself." 

The  manager,  quivering  with  rage  and  glaring  ug 
lily,  stepped  up  to  Virginia.  "  May  I  ask — ?  " 

But  the  fat  man  stepped  in  between  —  he  was 
well  qualified  for  that  position.  "  Cut  it  out,  part 
ner.  The  young  lady's  a  friend  of  mine  —  see? 
She's  looking  out  for  me  —  not  you.  I  don't  want 
your  stuff,  anyway."  And  taking  Virginia  serenely 
by  the  arm  he  walked  away. 

"  This  was  no  place  to  buy  dresses,"  said  she 
crossly. 

"  Well,  I  wish  I  knew  where  the  places  were  to 
buy  things,"  he  replied,  humbly,  forlornly. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  to  buy  ?  "  demanded  she, 
still  crossly. 

"  Why,  I  want  to  buy  some  nice  things  for  my 
wife.  Something  the  real  thing  from  Paris,  you 
know.  I  came  over  from  London  on  purpose.  But 
Lord,"  —  again  wiping  his  brow  —  "a  fellow  doesn't 
know  where  to  go." 

"  Oh  well,"  sighed  Virginia,  long-sufferingly,  "  I 
see  I'll  just  have  to  take  you.  There  doesn't  seem 
any  way  out  of  it.  It's  evident  you  can't  go  alone. 
Seven  hundred  francs!  " 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "  9 

"  I  suppose  it  was  too  much,"  he  conceded  meekly. 
"I  tell  you  I  will  be  grateful  if  you'll  just  stay  by 
me  a  little  while.  I  never  felt  so  up  against  it  in  all 
my  life." 

"  Now,  a  very  nice  thing  to  take  one's  wife  from 
Paris,"  began  Virginia  didactically,  when  they 
reached  the  sidewalk,  "  is  lace." 

"L  —  ace?  Um!  Y  —  es,  I  suppose  lace  is  all 
right.  Still  it  never  struck  me  there  was  anything 
so  very  lively  looking  about  lace." 

"  '  Lively  looking  '  is  not  the  final  word  in  wearing 
apparel,"  pronounced  Virginia  in  teacher-to-pupil 
manner.  "  Lace  is  always  in  good  taste,  never  goes 
out  of  style,  and  all  women  care  for  it.  I  will  take 
you  to  one  of  the  lace  shops." 

"  Very  well,"  acquiesced  he,  truly  chastened. 
"  Here,  let's  get  in  this  cab." 

Virginia  rode  across  the  Seine  looking  like  one  pon 
dering  the  destinies  of  nations.  Her  companion 
turned  several  times  to  address  her,  but  it  would  have 
been  as  easy  for  a  soldier  to  slap  a  general  on  the 
back.  Finally  she  turned  to  him. 

"  Now  when  we  get  there,"  she  instructed,  "  don't 
seem  at  all  interested  in  things.  Act  —  oh,  bored, 
you  know,  and  seeming  to  want  to  get  me  away. 
And  when  they  tell  the  price,  no  matter  what  they 
say,  just  —  well  sort  of  groan  and  hold  your  head 
and  act  as  though  you  are  absolutely  overcome  at  the 
thought  of  such  an  outrage." 


10  LIFTED  MASKS 

"  U  —  m.  You  have  to  do  that  here  to  get  — 
lace?" 

"  You  have  to  do  that  here  to  get  anything  — 
at  the  price  you  should  get  it.  You,  and  people 
who  go  shopping  the  way  you  do,  bring  discredit 
upon  the  entire  American  nation." 

"That  so?  Sorry.  Never  meant  to  do  that. 
All  right,  Young  Lady,  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  Never 
did  act  that  way,  but  suppose  I  can,  if  the  rest  of 
them  do." 

"  Groan  and  hold  my  head,"  she  heard  him  mur 
muring  as  they  entered  the  shop. 

He  proved  an  apt  pupil.  It  may  indeed  be  set 
down  that  his  aptitude  was  their  undoing.  They 
had  no  sooner  entered  the  shop  than  he  pulled  out 
his  watch  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  at 
the  sight  of  the  time.  Virginia  could  scarcely  look 
at  the  lace,  so  insistently  did  he  keep  waving  the 
watch  before  her.  His  contempt  for  everything 
shown  was  open  and  emphatic.  It  was  also  articu 
late.  Virginia  grew  nervous,  seeing  the  real  red 
showing  through  in  the  Frenchwoman's  cheeks. 
And  when  the  price  was  at  last  named  —  a  price 
which  made  Virginia  jubilant  —  there  burst  upon  her 
outraged  ears  something  between  a  jeer  and  a  howl 
of  rage,  the  whole  of  it  terrifyingly  done  in  the  form 
of  a  groan ;  she  looked  at  her  companion  to  see  him 
holding  up  his  hands  and  wobbling  his  head  as  though 
it  had  been  suddenly  loosened  from  his  spine,  cast 


"AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN"          11 

one  look  at  the  Frenchwoman  —  then  fled,  followed 
bj  her  groaning  compatriot. 

"  I  didn't  mean  you  to  act  like  that! "  she 
stormed. 

"  Why,  I  did  just  what  you  told  me  to!  Seemed 
to  me  I  was  following  directions  to  the  letter.  Don't 
think  for  a  minute  Tm  going  to  bring  discredit  on 
the  American  nation !  Not  a  bad  scheme  —  taking 
out  my  watch  that  way,  was  it?  " 

"  Oh,  beautiful  scheme.  I  presume  you  notice, 
however,  that  we  have  no  lace." 

They  walked  half  a  block  in  silence.  "  Now  I'll 
take  you  to  another  shop,"  she  then  volunteered,  in 
a  turning  the  other  cheek  fashion,  "  and  here  please 
do  nothing  at  all.  Please  just  —  sit." 

"  Sort  of  as  if  I  was  feeble-minded,  eh?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  try  to  look  feeble-minded,"  she  begged, 
alarmed  at  seeming  to  suggest  any  more  parts ; 
"just  sit  there  —  as  if  you  were  thinking  of  some 
thing  very  far  away." 

"  Say,  Young  Lady,  look  here ;  this  is  very  nice, 
being  put  on  to  the  tricks  of  the  trade,  but  the  money 
end  of  it  isn't  cutting  much  ice,  and  isn't  there  any 
way  you  can  just  buy  things  —  the  way  you  do  in 
Cincinnati?  Can't  you  get  their  stuff  without  mak 
ing  a  comic  opera  out  of  it?  " 

"  No,  you  can't,"  spoke  relentless  Virginia ;  "  not 
unless  you  want  them  to  laugh  and  say  '  Aren't 
Americans  fools  ?  '  the  minute  the  door  is  shut." 


12  LIFTED  MASKS 

"Fools  —  eh?     I'll  show  them  a  thing  or  two!" 

"  Oh,  please  show  them  nothing  here !  Please  just 
—  sit." 

While  employing  her  wiles  to  get  for  three  hun 
dred  and  fifty  francs  a  yoke  and  scarf  aggregat 
ing  four  hundred,  she  chanced  to  look  at  her  Ameri 
can  friend.  Then  she  walked  rapidly  to  the  rear  of 
the  shop,  buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief,  and 
seemed  making  heroic  efforts  to  sneeze.  Once  more 
he  was  following  directions  to  the  letter.  Chin  rest 
ing  on  hands,  hands  resting  on  stick,  the  huge  Ameri 
can  had  taken  on  the  beatific  expression  of  a  seven 
teen-year-old  girl  thinking  of  something  "  very  far 
away."  Virginia  was  long  in  mastering  the  sneeze. 

On  the  sidewalk  she  presented  him  with  the  pack 
age  of  lace  and  also  with  what  she  regarded  the 
proper  thing  in  the  way  of  farewell  speech.  She 
supposed  it  was  hard  for  a  man  to  go  shopping 
alone;  she  could  see  how  hard  it  would  be  for  her 
own  father;  indeed  it  was  seeing  how  difficult  it 
would  be  for  her  father  had  impelled  her  to  go  with 
him,  a  stranger.  She  trusted  his  wife  would  like 
the  lace;  she  thought  it  very  nice,  and  a  bargain. 
She  was  glad  to  have1  been  of  service  to  a  fellow  coun 
tryman  who  seemed  in  so  difficult  a  position. 

But  he  did  not  look  as  impressed  as  one  to  whom 
a  farewell  speech  was  being  made  should  look.  In 
fact,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  hearing  it.  Once  more, 
and  in  earnest  this  time,  he  appeared  to  be  thinking 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "         13 

of  something  very  far  away.  Then  all  at  once  he 
came  back,  and  it  was  in  anything  but  a  far-away 
voice  he  began,  briskly :  "  Now  look  here,  Young 
Lady,  I  don't  doubt  but  this  lace  is  great  stuff. 
You  say  so,  and  I  haven't  seen  man,  woman  or  child 
on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  knows  as  much  as  you 
do.  I'm  mighty  grateful  for  the  lace  —  don't  you 
forget  that,  but  just  the  same  —  well,  now  I'll  tell 
you.  I  have  a  very  special  reason  for  wanting  some 
thing  a  little  livelier  than  lace.  Something  that 
seems  to  have  Paris  written  on  it  in  red  letters  — 
see?  Now,  where  do  you  get  the  kind  of  hats  you 
see  some  folks  wearing,  and  where  do  you  get  the 
dresses  —  well,  it's  hard  to  describe  'em,  but  the 
kind  they  have  in  pictures  marked  '  Breezes  from 
Paris'?  You  see  —  S — ay!  —  what  do  you  think 
of  that?  " 

"  That  "  was  in  a  window  across  the  street.  It 
was  an  opera  cloak.  He  walked  toward  it,  Virginia 
following.  "  Now  there"  he  turned  to  her,  his  large 
round  face  all  aglow,  "  is  what  I  want." 

It  was  yellow ;  it  was  long ;  it  was  billowy ;  it  was 
insistently  and  recklessly  regal. 

"That's  the  ticket!"  he  gloated. 

"  Of  course,"  began  Virginia,  "  I  don't  know  any 
thing  about  it.  I  am  in  a  very  strange  position, 
not  knowing  what  your  wife  likes  or  —  or  has.  This 
is  the  kind  of  thing  everything  has  to  go  with  or  one 
wouldn't  —  one  couldn't  — " 


14  LIFTED  MASKS 

"Sure!  Good  idea.  We'll  just  get  everything 
to  go  with  it." 

"  It's  the  sort  of  thing  one  doesn't  see  worn  much 
outside  of  Paris  —  or  New  York.  If  one  is  —  now 
my  mother  wouldn't  care  for  that  coat  at  all."  Vir 
ginia  took  no  little  pride  in  that  tactful  finish. 

"  Can't  sidetrack  me !  "  he  beamed.  "  I  want  it. 
Very  thing  I'm  after,  Young  Lady." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
buying  the  coat  without  me,"  said  she,  as  a  dignified 
version  of  "  I  wash  my  hands  of  you."  "  You  can 
do  here  as  you  said  you  wished  to  do,  simply  go  in 
and  pay  what  they  ask.  There  would  be  no  use 
trying  to  get  it  cheap.  They  would  know  that  any 
one  who  wanted  it  would "  —  she  wanted  to  say 
"  have  more  money  than  they  knew  what  to  do  with," 
but  contented  herself  with,  "  be  able  to  pay  for  it." 

But  when  she  had  finished  she  looked  at  him;  at 
first  she  thought  she  wanted  to  laugh,  and  then  it 
seemed  that  wasn't  what  she  wanted  to  do  after  all. 
It  was  like  saying  to  a  small  boy  who  was  one  beam 
over  finding  a  tin  horn :  "  Oh  well,  take  the  horn  if 
you  want  to,  but  you  can't  haul  your  little  red  wag 
gon  while  you're  blowing  the  horn."  There  seemed 
something  peculiarly  inhuman  about  taking  the 
waggon  just  when  he  had  found  the  horn.  Now  if 
the  waggon  were  broken,  then  to  take  away  the  horn 
would  leave  the  luxury  of  grief.  But  let  not  shadows 
fall  upon  joyful  moments. 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "          15 

With  the  full  ardour  of  her  femininity  she  entered 
into  the  purchasing  of  the  yellow  opera  cloak.  They 
paid  for  that  decorative  garment  the  sum  of  two 
thousand  five  hundred  francs.  It  seemed  it  was  em 
broidered,  and  the  lining  was  —  anyway,  they  paid 
it. 

And  they  took  it  with  them.  He  was  going  to 
"  take  no  chances  on  losing  it."  He  was  leaving 
Paris  that  night  and  held  that  during  his  stay  he 
had  been  none  too  impressed  with  either  Parisian 
speed  or  Parisian  veracity. 

Then  they  bought  some  "  Breezes  from  Paris,"  a 
dress  that  would  "  go  with  "  the  coat.  It  was  vio 
let  velvet,  and  contributed  to  the  sense  of  doing 
one's  uttermost ;  and  hats  — "  the  kind  you  see  some 
folks  wearing."  One  was  the  rainbow  done  into 
flowers,  and  the  other  the  kind  of  black  hat  to  outdo 
any  rainbow.  "  If  you  could  just  give  me  some  idea 
what  type  your  wife  is,"  Virginia  was  saying,  from 
beneath  the  willow  plumes.  "  Now  you  see  this  hat 
quite  overpowers  me.  Do  you  think  it  will  over 
power  her?  " 

"  Guess  not.  Anyway,  if  it  don't  look  right  on 
her  head  she  may  enjoy  having  it  around  to  look 
at." 

Virginia  stared  out  at  him.  The  oddest  man! 
As  if  a  hat  were  any  good  at  all  if  it  didn't  look 
right  on  one's  head ! 

Upon     investigation  —  though     yielding     to     his 


16  LIFTED  MASKS 

taste  she  was  still  vigilant  as  to  his  interests  —  Vir 
ginia  discovered  a  flaw  in  one  of  the  plumes.  The 
sylph  in  the  trailing  gown  held  volubly  that  it  did  not 
fait  rien;  the  man  with  the  open  purse  said  he 
couldn't  see  that  it  figured  much,  but  the  small 
American  held  firm.  That  must  be  replaced  by  a  per 
fect  plume  or  they  would  not  take  the  hat.  And 
when  she  saw  who  was  in  command  the  sylph  as 
volubly  acquiesced  that  naturellement  it  must  be 
tout  a  fait  perfect.  She  would  send  out  and  get 
one  that  would  be  oh!  so,  so,  so  perfect.  It  would 
take  half  an  hour. 

"  Tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  Virginia's  friend  pro 
posed,  opera  cloak  tight  under  one  arm,  velvet  gown 
as  tight  under  the  other,  "  I'm  tired  —  hungry  — 
thirsty ;  feel  like  a  ham  sandwich  —  and  something. 
I'm  playing  you  out,  too.  Let's  go  out  and  get  a 
bite  and  come  back  for  the  so,  so,  so  perfect  hat." 

She  hesitated.  But  he  had  the  door  open,  and  if 
he  stood  holding  it  that  way  much  longer  he  was 
bound  to  drop  the  violet  velvet  gown.  She  did  not 
want  him  to  drop  the  velvet  gown  and  furthermore, 
she  would  like  a  cup  of  tea.  There  came  into  her 
mind  a  fortifying  thought  about  the  relative  deaths 
of  sheep  and  lambs.  If  to  be  killed  for  the  sheep 
were  indeed  no  worse  than  being  killed  for  the  lamb, 
and  if  a  cup  of  tea  went  with  the  sheep  and  nothing 
at  all  with  the  lamb — ? 

So   she   agreed.     "  There's   a  nice  little  tea-shop 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "         17 

right  round  the  corner.     We  girls  often  go  there." 

"Tea?  Like  tea?  All  right,  then "—  and  he 
started  manfully  on. 

But  as  she  entered  the  tea-shop  she  was  filled  with 
keen  sense  of  the  desirableness  of  being  slain  for  the 
lesser  animal.  For,  cosily  installed  in  their  favour 
ite  corner,  were  "  the  girls." 

Virginia  had  explained  to  these  friends  some  three 
hours  before  that  she  could  not  go  with  them  that 
afternoon  as  she  must  attend  a  musicale  some  friends 
of  her  mother's  were  giving.  Being  friends  of  her 
mother's,  she  expatiated,  she  would  have  to  go. 

Recollecting  this,  also  for  the  first  time  remember 
ing  the  musicale,  she  bowed  with  the  hauteur  of  self- 
consciousness. 

Right  there  her  friend  contributed  to  the  tragedy 
of  a  sheep's  death  by  dropping  the  yellow  opera 
cloak.  While  he  was  stooping  to  pick  it  up  the  vio 
let  velvet  gown  slid  backward  and  Virginia  had  to 
steady  it  until  he  could  regain  position.  The  star 
ing  in  the  corner  gave  way  to  tittering  —  and  no 
dying  sheep  had  ever  held  its  head  more  haughtily. 

The  death  of  this  particular  sheep  proved  long 
and  painful.  The  legs  of  Virginia's  friend  and  the 
legs  of  the  tea-table  did  not  seem  well  adapted  to 
each  other.  He  towered  like  a  human  mountain  over 
the  dainty  thing,  twisting  now  this  way  and  now  that. 
It  seemed  Providence  —  or  at  least  so  much  of  it 
as  was  represented  by  the  management  of  that  shop 


18  LIFTED  MASKS 

—  had  never  meant  fat  people  to  drink  tea.  The 
table  was  rendered  further  out  of  proportion  by  hav 
ing  a  large  box  piled  on  either  side  of  it. 

Expansively,  and  not  softly,  he  discoursed  of 
these  things.  What  did  they  think  a  fellow  was  to 
do  with  his  knees?  Didn't  they  sell  tea  enough  to 
afford  any  decent  chairs?  Did  all  these  women 
pretend  to  really  like  tea? 

Virginia's  sensq  of  humour  rallied  somewhat  as  she 
viewed  him  eating  the  sandwiches.  Once  she  had 
called  them  doll-baby  sandwiches ;  now  that  seemed 
literal :  tea-cups,  petit  gateau,  the  whole  service  gave 
the  fancy  of  his  sitting  down  to  a  tea-party  given 
by  a  little  girl  for  her  dollies. 

But  after  a  time  he  fell  silent,  looking  around  the 
room.  And  when  he  broke  that  pause  his  voice  was 
different. 

"  These  women  here,  all  dressed  so  fine,  nothing 
to  do  but  sit  around  and  eat  this  folderol,  they 
have  it  easy  —  don't  they  ?  "  { 

The  bitterness  in  it,  and  a  faint  note  of  wistful- 
ness,  puzzled  her.  Certainly  he  had  money. 

"  And  the  husbands  of  these  women,"  he  went  on ; 
"  lots  of  'em,  I  suppose,  didn't  always  have  so  much. 
Maybe  some  of  these  women  helped  out  in  the  early 
days  when  things  weren't  so  easy.  Wonder  if  the 
men  ever  think  how  lucky  they  are  to  be  able  to  get 
it  back  at  'em?" 

She  grew  more  bewildered.     Wasn't  he  "  getting 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "         19 

it  back  ?  "  The  money  he  had  been  spending  that  day ! 

"  Young  Lady,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  you  must 
think  I'm  a  queer  one." 

She  murmured  feeble  protest. 

"  Yes,  you  must.  Must  wonder  what  I  want  with 
all  this  stuff,  don't  you?  " 

"Why,  it's  for  your  wife,  isn't  it?"  she  asked, 
startled. 

"  Oh  yes,  but  you  must  wonder.  You're  a  shrewd 
one,  Young  Lady;  judging  the  thing  by  me,  you 
must  wonder." 

Virginia  was  glad  she  was  not  compelled  to  state 
her  theory.  Loud  and  common  and  impossible  were 
terms  which  had  presented  themselves,  terms  which 
she  had  fought  with  kind  and  good-natured  and 
generous.  Their  purchases  she  had  decided  were 
to  be  used,  not  for  a  knock,  but  as  a  crashing  pound 
at  the  door  of  the  society  of  his  town.  For  her  part, 
Virginia  hoped  the  door  would  come  down. 

"  And  if  you  knew  that  probably  this  stuff 
would  never  be  worn  at  all,  that  ten  to  one  it  would 
never  do  anything  more  than  lie  round  on  chairs  — 
then  you  would  think  I  was  queer,  wouldn't  you?  " 

She  was  forced  to  admit  that  that  would  seem 
rather  strange. 

"  Young  Lady,  I  believe  I'll  tell  you  about  it. 
Never  do  talk  about  it  to  hardly  anybody,  but  I 
feel  as  if  you  and  I  were  pretty  well  acquainted  — 
we've  been  through  so  much  together." 


20  LIFTED  MASKS 

She  smiled  at  him  warmly;  there  was  something 
so  real  about  him  when  he  talked  that  way. 

But  his  look  then  frightened  her.  It  seemed  for 
an  instant  as  though  he  would  brush  the  tiny  table 
aside  and  seize  some  invisible  thing  by  the  throat. 
Then  he  said,  cutting  off  each  word  short :  "  Young 
Lady,  what  do  you  think  of  this?  I'm  worth  more 
'an  a  million  dollars  —  and  my  wife  gets  up  at  five 
o'clock  every  morning  to  do  washing  and  scrubbing." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  that  she  lias  to,"  he  answered  her 
look,  "  but  she  thinks  she  has  to.  See  ?  Once  we 
were  poor.  For  twenty  years  we  were  poor  as  dirt. 
Then  she  did  have  to  do  things  like  that.  Then  I 
struck  it.  Or  rather,  it  struck  me.  Oil.  Oil  on 
a  bit  of  land  I  had.  I  had  just  sense  enough  to 
make  the  most  of  it ;  one  thing  led  to  another  — 
well,  you're  not  interested  in  that  end  of  it.  But 
the  fact  is  that  now  we're  rich.  Now  she  could 
have  all  the  things  that  these  women  have  —  Lord 
A'mighty  she  could  lay  abed  every  day  till  noon  if 
she  wanted  to!  But  —  you  see?  —  it  got  her  — 
those  hard,  lonely,  grinding  years  took  her.  She's  " 
—  he  shrunk  from  the  terrible  word  and  faltered 
out  —  "  her  mind's  not  —  " 

There  was  a  sobbing  little  flutter  in  Virginia's 
throat.  In  a  dim  way  she  was  glad  to  see  that  the 
girls  were  going.  She  could  not  have  them  laughing 
at  him  —  now. 

"  Well,  you  can  about  figure  out  how  it  makes  me 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "         21 

feel,"  he  continued,  and  looking  into  his  face  now 
it  was  as  though  the  spirit  redeemed  the  flesh. 
"  You're  smart.  You  can  see  it  without  my  callin' 
your  attention  to  it.  Last  time  I  went  to  see  her 
I  had  just  made  fifty  thousand  on  a  deal.  And  I 
found  her  down  on  her  knees  thinking  she  was  scrub 
bing  the  floor !  " 

Unconsciously  Virginia's  hand  went  out,  following 
the  rush  of  sympathy  and  understanding.  "  But 
can't  they  —  restrain  her?"  she  murmured. 

"  Makes  her  worse.  Says  she's  got  it  to  do 
—  frets  her  to  think  she's  not  getting  it  done." 

"  But  isn't  there  some  way? "  she  whispered. 
"  Some  way  to  make  her  know?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  large  boxes.  "  That,"  he  said 
simply,  "  is  the  meaning  of  those.  It's  been  seven 
years  — •  but  I  keep  on  trying." 

She  was  silent,  the  tears  too  close  for  words.  And 
she  had  thought  it  cheap  ambition!  —  vulgar  aspi 
ration  —  silly  show  —  vanity ! 

"  Suppose  you  thought  I  was  a  queer  one,  talk 
ing  about  lively  looking  things.  But  you  see  now? 
Thought  it  might  attract  her  attention,  thought 
something  real  gorgeous  like  this  might  impress 
money  on  her.  Though  I  don't  know,"  —  he  seemed 
to  grow  weary  as  he  told  it ;  "I  got  her  a  lot  of 
diamonds,  thinking  they  might  interest  her,  and  she 
thought  she'd  stolen  'em,  and  they  had  to  take  them 
away." 


22  LIFTED  MASKS 

Still  the  girl  did  not  speak.  Her  hand  was 
shading  her  eyes. 

"  But  there's  nothing  like  trying.  Nothing  like 
keeping  right  on  trying.  And  anyhow  —  a  fellow 
likes  to  think  he's  taking  his  wife  something  from 
Paris." 

They  passed  before  her  in  their  heartbreaking 
folly,  their  tragic  uselessness,  their  lovable  absurd 
ity  and  stinging  irony  —  those  things  they  had 
bought  that  afternoon :  an  opera  cloak  —  a  velvet 
dress  —  those  hats  —  red  silk  stockings. 

The  mockery  of  them  wrung  her  heart.  Right 
there  in  the  tea-shop  Virginia  was  softly  crying. 

"  Oh,  now  that's  too  bad,"  he  expostulated  clum 
sily.  "  Why,  look  here,  Young  Lady,  I  didn't  mean 
you  to  take  it  so  hard." 

When  she  had  recovered  herself  he  told  her  much 
of  the  story.  And  the  thing  which  revealed  him  — 
glorified  him  —  was  less  the  grief  he  gave  to  it  than 
the  way  he  saw  it.  "  It's  the  cursed  unfairness  of 
it,"  he  concluded.  "  When  you  consider  it's  all  be 
cause  she  did  those  things  —  when  you  think  of  her 
bein'  bound  to  'em  for  life  just  because  she  was  too 
faithful  doin9  'em  —  when  you  think  that  now  — 
when  I  could  give  her  everything  these  women  have 
got !  —  she's  got  to  go  right  on  worrying  about 
baking  the  bread  and  washing  the  dishes  —  did  it 
for  me  when  I  was  poor  —  and  now  with  me  rich  she 
can't  get  out  of  it  —  and  I  can't  reach  her  —  oh, 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "         23 

it's  rotten!  I  tell  you  it's  rotten!  Sometimes  I 
dan  just  hear  my  money  laugh  at  me!  Sometimes 
I  get  to  going  round  and  round  in  a  circle  about  it 
till  it  seems  I'm  going  crazy  myself." 

"  I  think  you  are  a  —  a  noble  man,"  choked 
Virginia. 

That  disconcerted  him.  "  Oh  Lord  —  don't 
think  that.  No,  Young  Lady,  don't  try  to  make 
any  plaster  saint  out  of  me.  My  life  goes  on.  I've 
got  to  eat,  drink  and  be  merry.  I'm  built  that  way. 
But  just  the  same  my  heart  on  the  inside's  pretty 
sore,  Young  Lady.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  the 
whole  inside  of  my  heart  is  sore  as  a  boil!  " 

They  were  returning  for  the  hats.  Suddenly 
Virginia  stopped,  and  it  was  a  soft-eyed  and  gentle 
Virginia  who  turned  to  him  after  the  pause.  "  There 
are  lovely  things  to  be  bought  in  Paris  for  women 
who  aren't  well.  Such  soft,  lovely  things  to  wear  in 
your  room.  Not  but  what  I  think  these  other  things 
are  all  right.  As  you  say,  they  may  —  interest  her. 
But  they  aren't  things  she  can  use  just  now,  and 
wouldn't  you  like  her  to  have  some  of  those  soft 
lovely  things  she  could  actually  wear?  They  might 
help  most  of  all.  To  wake  in  the  morning  and  find 
herself  in  something  so  beautiful  — :" 

"  Where  do  you  get  'em  ? "  he  demanded 
promptly. 

And  so  they  went  to  one  of  those  shops  which 
have,  more  than  all  the  others,  enshrined  Paris  in 


24  LIFTED  MASKS 

feminine  hearts.  And  never  was  lingerie  selected  with 
more  loving  care  than  that  which  Virginia  picked 
out  that  afternoon.  A  tear  fell  on  one  particularly 
lovely  robe  de  nuit  —  so  soothingly  soft,  so  caress 
ingly  luxurious,  it  seemed  that  surely  it  might  help 
bring  release  from  the  bondage  of  those  crushing 
years. 

As  they  were  leaving  they  were  given  two  pack 
ages.  "  Just  the  kimona  thing  you  liked,"  he  said, 
"  and  a  trinket  or  two.  Now  that  we're  such  good 
friends,  you  won't  feel  like  you  did  this  morning." 

"  And  if  I  don't  want  them  myself,  I  might  send 
them  to  my  mother,"  Virginia  replied,  a  quiver  in  her 
laugh  at  her  own  little  joke. 

He  had  put  her  in  her  cab;  he  had  tried  to  tell 
her  how  much  he  thanked  her;  they  had  said  good 
bye  and  the  cocJier  had  cracked  his  whip  when  he 
came  running  after  her.  "  Why,  Young  Lady,"  he 
called  out,  "  we  don't  know  each  other's  names" 

She  laughed  and  gave  hers.  "  Mine's  William 
P.  Johnson,"  he  said.  "  Part  French  and  part 
Italian.  But  now  look  here,  Young  Lady  —  or  I 
mean,  Miss  Clayton.  A  fellow  at  the  hotel  was 
telling  me  something  last  night  that  made  me  sick. 
He  said  American  girls  sometimes  got  awfully  up 
against  it  here.  He  said  one  actually  starved  last 
year.  Now,  I  don't  like  that  kind  of  business.  Look 
here,  Young  Lady,  I  want  you  to  promise  that  if 
you  —  you  or  any  of  your  gang  —  get  up  against 


"  AN  IMPOSSIBLE  AMERICAN  "         25 

it  you'll  cable  William  P.  Johnson,  of  Cincinnati, 
Ohio." 

The  twilight  grey  had  stolen  upon  Paris.  And 
there  was  a  mist  which  the  street  lights  only  pene 
trated  a  little  way  —  as  sometimes  one's  knowledge 
of  life  may  only  penetrate  life  a  very  little  way. 
Her  cab  stopped  by  a  blockade,  she  watched  the 
burly  back  of  William  P.  Johnson  disappearing  into 
the  mist.  The  red  box  which  held  the  yellow  opera 
cloak  she  could  see  longer  than  all  else. 

"  You  never  can  tell,"  murmured  Virginia.  "It 
just  goes  to  show  that  you  never  can  tell." 

And  whatever  it  was  you  never  could  tell  had 
brought  to  Virginia's  girlish  face  the  tender  know- 
ingness  of  the  face  of  a  woman. 


II 

THE  PLEA 

SENATOR  HARRISON  concluded  his  argu 
ment  and  sat  down.  There  was  no  applause, 
but  he  had  expected  none.  Senator  Dorman 
was  already  saying  "  Mr.  President  ?  "  and  there 
was  a  stir  in  the  crowded  galleries,  and  an  anticipa 
tory  moving  of  chairs  among  the  Senators.  In  the 
press  gallery  the  reporters  bunched  together  their 
scattered  papers  and  inspected  their  pencil-points 
with  earnestness.  Dorman  was  the  best  speaker  of 
the  Senate,  and  he  was  on  the  popular  side  of  it. 
It  would  be  the  great  speech  of  the  session,  and  the 
prospect  was  cheering  after  a  deluge  of  railroad 
and  insurance  bills. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  began,  "  why  I  have 
worked  for  this  resolution  recommending  the  pardon 
of  Alfred  Williams.  It  is  one  of  the  great  laws  of 
the  universe  that  every  living  thing  be  given  a 
chance.  In  the  case  before  us  that  law  has  been 
violated.  This  does  not  resolve  itself  into  a  ques 
tion  of  second  chances.  The  boy  of  whom  we  are 
speaking  has  never  had  his  first." 

Senator  Harrison  swung  his  chair  half-way 
around  and  looked  out  at  the  green  things  which 

26 


THE  PLEA  27 

were  again  coming  into  their  own  on  the  State-house 
grounds.  He  knew  — -  in  substance  —  what  Sena 
tor  Dorman  would  say  without  hearing  it,  and  he 
was  a  little  tired  of  the  whole  affair.  He  hoped 
that  one  way  or  other  they  would  finish  it  up  that 
night,  and  go  ahead  with  something  else.  He  had 
done  what  he  could,  and  now  the  responsibility  was 
with  the  rest  of  them.  He  thought  they  were  shoul 
dering  a  great  deal  to  advocate  the  pardon  in  the 
face  of  the  united  opposition  of  Johnson  County, 
where  the  crime  had  been  committed.  It  seemed 
a  community  should  be  the  best  judge  of  its  own 
crimes,  and  that  was  what  he,  as  the  Senator  from 
Johnson,  had  tried  to  impress  upon  them. 

He  knew  that  his  argument  against  the  boy  had 
been  a  strong  one.  He  rather  liked  the  attitude  in 
which  he  stood.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  the  incar 
nation  of  outraged  justice  attempting  to  hold  its 
own  at  the  floodgates  of  emotion.  He  liked  to 
think  he  was  looking  far  beyond  the  present  and  the 
specific  and  acting  as  guardian  of  the  future  —  and 
the  whole.  In  summing  it  up  that  night  the  re 
porters  would  tell  in  highly  wrought  fashion  of  the 
moving  appeal  made  by  Senator  Dorman,  and  then 
they  would  speak  dispassionately  of  the  logical  argu 
ment  of  the  leader  of  the  opposition.  There  was 
more  satisfaction  to  self  in  logic  than  in  mere  elo 
quence.  He  was  even  a  little  proud  of  his  unpopu 
larity.  It  seemed  sacrificial. 


28  LIFTED  MASKS 

He  wondered  why  it  was  Senator  Dorman  had 
thrown  himself  into  it  so  whole-heartedly.  All  dur 
ing  the  session  the  Senator  from  Maxwell  had  neg 
lected  personal  interests  in  behalf  of  this  boy,  who 
was  nothing  to  him  in  the  world.  He  supposed  it 
was  as  a  sociological  and  psychological  experiment. 
Senator  Dorman  had  promised  the  Governor  to  as 
sume  guardianship  of  the  boy  if  he  were  let  out.  The 
Senator  from  Johnson  inferred  that  as  a  student  of 
social  science  his  eloquent  colleague  wanted  to  see 
what  he  could  make  of  him.  To  suppose  the  interest 
merely  personal  and  sympathetic  would  seem  discred 
itable. 

"  I  need  not  dwell  upon  the  story,"  the  Senator 
from  Maxwell  was  saying,  "  for  you  all  are  famil 
iar  with  it  already.  It  is  said  to  have  been  the  most 
awful  crime  ever  committed  in  the  State.  I  grant 
you  that  it  was,  and  then  I  ask  you  to  look  for 
a  minute  into  the  conditions  leading  up  to  it. 

"  When  the  boy  was  born,  his  mother  was  institut 
ing  divorce  proceedings  against  his  father.  She 
obtained  the  divorce,  and  remarried  when  Alfred 
was  three  months  old.  From  the  time  he  was  a  mere 
baby  she  taught  him  to  hate  his  father.  Every 
thing  that  went  wrong  with  him  she  told  him  was 
his  father's  fault.  His  first  vivid  impression  was  that 
his  father  was  responsible  for  all  the  wrong  of  the 
universe. 

"  For   seven  years   that   went   on,   and  then  his 


THE  PLEA  29 

mother  died.  His  stepfather  did  not  want  him. 
He  was  going  to  Missouri,  and  the  boy  would  be  a 
useless  expense  and  a  bother.  He  made  no  attempt 
to  find  a  home  for  him ;  he  did  not  even  explain  — 
he  merely  went  away  and  left  him.  At  the  age  of 
seven  the  boy  was  turned  out  on  the  world,  after 
having  been  taught  one  thing  —  to  hate  his  father. 
He  stayed  a  few  days  in  the  barren  house,  and  then 
new  tenants  came  and  closed  the  doors  against  him. 
It  may  have  occurred  to  him  as  a  little  strange  that 
he  had  been  sent  into  a  world  where  there  was  no 
place  for  him. 

"  When  he  asked  the  neighbours  for  shelter,  they 
told  him  to  go  to  his  own  father  and  not  bother 
strangers.  He  said  he  did  not  know  where  his  father 
was.  They  told  him,  and  he  started  to  walk  —  a 
distance  of  fifty  miles.  I  ask  you  to  bear  in  mind, 
gentlemen,  that  he  was  only  seven  years  of  age.  It 
is  the  age  when  the  average  boy  is  beginning  the 
third  reader,  and  when  he  is  shooting  marbles  and 
spinning  tops. 

"  When  he  reached  his  father's  house  he  was  told 
at  once  that  he  was  not  wanted  there.  The  man  had 
remarried,  there  were  other  children,  and  he  had  no 
place  for  Alfred.  He  turned  him  away;  but  the 
neighbours  protested,  and  he  was  compelled  to  take 
him  back.  For  four  years  he  lived  in  this  home,  to 
which  he  had  come  unbidden,  and  where  he  was  never 
made  welcome. 


30  LIFTED  MASKS 

"  The  whole  family  rebelled  against  him,  The 
father  satisfied  his  resentment  against  the  boy's  dead 
mother  by  beating  her  son,  by  encouraging  his  wife 
to  abuse  him,  and  inspiring  the  other  children  to  de 
spise  him.  It  seems  impossible  such  conditions 
should*  exist.  The  only  proof  of  their  possibility  lies 
in  the  fact  of  their  existence. 

"  I  need  not  go  into  the  details  of  the  crime.  He 
had  been  beaten  by  his  father  that  evening  after  a 
quarrel  with  his  stepmother  about  spilling  the  milk. 
He  went,  as  usual,  to  his  bed  in  the  barn;  but  the 
hay  was  suffocating,  his  head  ached,  and  he  could 
not  sleep.  He  arose  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  went 
to  the  house,  and  killed  both  his  father  and  step 
mother. 

"  I  shall  not  pretend  to  say  what  thoughts  surged 
through  the  boy's  brain  as  he  lay  there  in  the  stifling 
hay  with  the  hot  blood  pounding  against  his  temples. 
I  shall  not  pretend  to  say  whether  he  was  sane  or  in 
sane  as  he  walked  to  the  house  for  the  perpetration 
of  the  awful  crime.  I  do  not  even  affirm  it  would 
not  have  happened  had  there  been  some  human  being 
there  to  lay  a  cooling  hand  on  his  hot  forehead,  and 
say  a  few  soothing,  loving  words  to  take  the  sting 
from  the  loneliness,  and  ease  the  suffering.  I  ask 
you  to  consider  only  one  thing:  he  was  eleven  years 
old  at  the  time,  and  he  had  no  friend  in  all  the  world. 
He  knew  nothing  of  sympathy ;  he  knew  only  injus 
tice." 


THE  PLEA  31 

Senator  Harrison  was  still  looking  out  at  the  bud 
ding  things  on  the  State-house  grounds,  but  in  a 
vague  way  he  was  following  the  story.  He  knew 
when  the  Senator  from  Maxwell  completed  the  re 
cital  of  facts  and  entered  upon  his  plea.  He  was 
conscious  that  it  was  stronger  than  he  had  antici 
pated  —  more  logic  and  less  empty  exhortation. 
He  was  telling  of  the  boy's  life  in  reformatory  and 
penitentiary  since  the  commission  of  the  crime, —  of 
how  he  had  expanded  under  kindness,  of  his  mental 
attainments,  the  letters  he  could  write,  the  books  he 
had  read,  the  hopes  he  cherished.  In  the  twelve 
years  he  had  spent  there  he  had  been  known  to  do 
no  unkind  nor  mean  thing ;  he  responded  to  affection 
—  craved  it.  It  was  not  the  record  of  a  degenerate, 
the  Senator  from  Maxwell  was  saying. 

A  great  many  things  were  passing  through  the 
mind  of  the  Senator  from  Johnson.  He  was  trying 
to  think  who  it  was  that  wrote  that  book,  "  Put  Your 
self  in  His  Place."  He  had  read  it  once,  and  it  both 
ered  him  to  forget  names.  Then  he  was  wondering 
why  it  was  the  philosophers  had  not  more  to  say 
about  the  incongruity  of  people  who  had  never  had 
any  trouble  of  their  own  sitting  in  judgment  upon 
people  who  had  known  nothing  but  trouble.  He  was 
thinking  also  that  abstract  rules  did  not  always  fit 
smoothly  over  concrete  cases,  and  that  it  was  hard 
to  make  life  a  matter  of  rules,  anyway. 

Next  he  was  wondering  how  it  would  have  been 


32  LIFTED  MASKS 

with  the  boy  Alfred  Williams  if  he  had  been  born  in 
Charles  Harrison's  place;  and  then  he  was  work 
ing  it  out  the  other  way  and  wondering  how  it  would 
have  been  with  Charles  Harrison  had  he  been  born 
in  Alfred  Williams's  place.  He  wondered  whether 
the  idea  of  murder  would  have  grown  in  Alfred  Wil 
liams's  heart  had  he  been  born  to  the  things  to  which 
Charles  Harrison  was  born,  and  whether  it  would 
have  come  within  the  range  of  possibility  for  Charles 
Harrison  to  murder  his  father  if  he  had  been  born 
to  Alfred  Williams's  lot.  Putting  it  that  way,  it 
was  hard  to  estimate  how  much  of  it  was  the  boy 
himself,  and  how  much  the  place  the  world  had  pre 
pared  for  him.  And  if  it  was  the  place  prepared 
for  him  more  than  the  boy,  why  was  the  fault  not 
more  with  the  preparers  of  the  place  than  with  the 
occupant  of  it?  The  whole  thing  was  very  confus 
ing. 

"  This  page,"  the  Senator  from  Maxwell  was  say 
ing,  lifting  the  little  fellow  to  the  desk,  "  is  just 
eleven  years  of  age,  and  he  is  within  three  pounds  of 
Alfred  Williams's  weight  when  he  committed  the 
murder.  I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  if  this  little  fellow 
should  be  guilty  of  a  like  crime  to-night,  to  what  ex 
tent  would  you,  in  reading  of  it  in  the  morning, 
charge  him  with  the  moral  discernment  which  is  the 
first  condition  of  moral  responsibility?  If  Alfred 
Williams's  story  were  this  boy's  story,  would  you 
deplore  that  there  had  been  no  one  to  check  the  child- 


THE  PLEA  33 

ish  passion,  or  would  you  say  it  was  the  inborn  in 
stinct  of  the  murderer?  And  suppose  again  this 
were  Alfred  Williams  at  the  age  of  eleven,  would 
you  not  be  willing  to  look  into  the  future  and  say  if 
he  spent  twelve  years  in  penitentiary  and  reforma 
tory,  in  which  time  he  developed  the  qualities  of  use 
ful  and  honourable  citizenship,  that  the  ends  of  jus 
tice  would  then  have  been  met,  and  the  time  at  hand 
for  the  world  to  begin  the  payment  of  her  debt?  " 

Senator  Harrison's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  page 
standing  on  the  opposite  desk.  Eleven  was  a 
younger  age  than  he  had  supposed.  As  he  looked 
back  upon  it  and  recalled  himself  when  eleven  years 
of  age  —  his  irresponsibility,  his  dependence  —  he 
was  unwilling  to  say  what  would  have  happened  if 
the  world  had  turned  upon  him  as  it  had  upon  Alfred 
Williams.  At  eleven  his  greatest  grievance  was  that 
the  boys  at  school  called  him  "  yellow-top."  He 
remembered  throwing  a  rock  at  one  of  them  for  doing 
it.  He  wondered  if  it  was  criminal  instinct  prompted 
the  throwing  of  the  rock.  He  wondered  how  high 
the  percentage  of  children's  crimes  would  go  were  it 
not  for  countermanding  influences.  It  seemed  the 
great  difference  between  Alfred  Williams  and  a  num 
ber  of  other  children  of  eleven  had  been  the  absence 
of  the  countermanding  influence. 

There  came  to  him  of  a  sudden  a  new  and  moving 
thought.  Alfred  Williams  had  been  cheated  of  his 
boyhood.  The  chances  were  he  had  never  gone  swim- 


34  LIFTED  MASKS 

ming,  nor  to  a  ball  game,  or  maybe  never  to  a  circus. 
It  might  even  be  that  he  had  never  owned  a  dog.  The 
Senator  from  Maxwell  was  right  when  he  said  the 
boy  had  never  been  given  his  chance,  had  been  de 
frauded  of  that  which  has  been  a  boy's  heritage 
since  the  world  itself  was  young. 

And  the  later  years  —  how  were  they  making  it 
up  to  him?  He  recalled  what  to  him  was  the  most 
awful  thing  he  had  ever  heard  about  the  State  peni 
tentiary:  they  never  saw  the  sun  rise  down  there, 
and  they  never  saw  it  set.  They  saw  it  at  its  meri 
dian,  when  it  climbed  above  the  stockade,  but  as  it 
rose  into  the  day,  and  as  it  sank  into  the  night,  it 
was  denied  them.  And  there,  at  the  penitentiary, 
they  could  not  even  look  up  at  the  stars.  It  had 
been  years  since  Alfred  Williams  raised  his  face  to 
God's  heaven  and  knew  he  was  part  of  it  all.  The 
voices  of  the  night  could  not  penetrate  the  little  cell 
in  the  heart  of  the  mammoth  stone  building  where 
he  spent  his  evenings  over  those  masterpieces  with 
which,  they  said,  he  was  more  familiar  than  the  aver 
age  member  of  the  Senate.  When  he  read  those 
things  Victor  Hugo  said  of  the  vastness  of  the  night, 
he  could  only  look  around  at  the  walls  that  enclosed 
him  and  try  to  reach  back  over  the  twelve  years  for 
some  satisfying  conception  of  what  night  really  was. 

The  Senator  from  Johnson  shuddered:  they  had 
taken  from  a  living  creature  the  things  of  life, 
and  all  because  in  the  crucial  hour  there  had  been 


THE  PLEA  35 

no  one  to  say  a  staying  word.  Man  had  cheated 
him  of  the  things  that  were  man's,  and  then  shut 
him  away  from  the  world  that  was  God's.  They  had 
made  for  him  a  life  barren  of  compensations. 

There  swept  over  the  Senator  a  great  feeling  of 
self-pity.  As  representative  of  Johnson  County, 
it  was  he  who  must  deny  this  boy  the  whole  great 
world  without,  the  people  who  wanted  to  help  him, 
and  what  the  Senator  from  Maxwell  called  "  his 
chance."  If  Johnson  County  carried  the  day,  there 
would  be  something  unpleasant  for  him  to  consider 
all  the  remainder  of  his  life.  As  he  grew  to  be  an 
older  man  he  would  think  of  it  more  and  more  — 
what  the  boy  would  have  done  for  himself  in  the 
world  if  the  Senator  from  Johnson  had  not  been  more 
logical  and  more  powerful  than  the  Senator  from 
Maxwell. 

Senator  Dorman  was  nearing  the  end  of  his  argu 
ment.  "  In  spite  of  the  undying  prejudice  of  the 
people  of  Johnson  County,"  he  was  saying,  "  I  can 
stand  before  you  to-day  and  say  that  after  an  un 
sparing  investigation  of  this  case  I  do  not  believe  I 
am  asking  you  to  do  anything  in  violation  of  justice 
when  I  beg  of  you  to  give  this  boy  his  chance." 

It  was  going  to  a  vote  at  once,  and  the  Senator 
from  Johnson  County  looked  out  at  the  budding 
things  and  wondered  whether  the  boy  down  at  the 
penitentiary  knew  the  Senate  was  considering  his 
case  that  afternoon.  It  was  without  vanity  he  won- 


36  LIFTED  MASKS 

dered  whether  what  he  had  been  trained  to  think  of 
as  an  all-wise  providence  would  not  have  preferred 
that  Johnson  County  be  represented  that  session  by 
a  less  able  man. 

A  great  hush  fell  over  the  Chamber,  for  ayes  and 
noes  followed  almost  in  alternation.  After  a  long 
minute  of  waiting  the  secretary  called,  in  a  tense 
voice : 

"Ayes,  SO;  Noes,  32." 

The  Senator  from  Johnson  had  proven  too  faith 
ful  a  servant  of  his  constituents.  The  boy  in  the 
penitentiary  was  denied  his  chance. 

The  usual  things  happened:  some  women  in  the 
galleries,  who  had  boys  at  home,  cried  aloud;  the 
reporters  were  fighting  for  occupancy  of  the  tele 
phone  booths,  and  most  of  the  Senators  began  the 
perusal  of  the  previous  day's  Journal  with  elaborate 
interest.  Senator  Dorman  indulged  in  none  of  these 
feints.  A  full  look  at  his  face  just  then  told  how 
much  of  his  soul  had  gone  into  the  fight  for  the  boy's 
chance,  and  the  look  about  his  eyes  was  a  little  hard 
on  the  theory  of  psychological  experiment. 

Senator  Harrison  was  looking  out  at  the  budding 
trees,  but  his  face  too  had  grown  strange,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  looking  miles  beyond  and  years  ahead. 
It  seemed  that  he  himself  was  surrendering  the  voices 
of  the  night,  and  the  comings  and  goings  of  the 
sun.  He  would  never  look  at  them  —  feel  them  — 
again  without  remembering  he  was  keeping  one  of 


THE  PLEA  37 

his  fellow  creatures  away  from  them.  He  wondered 
at  his  own  presumption  in  denying  any  living  thing 
participation  in  the  universe.  And  all  the  while 
there  were  before  him  visions  of  the  boy  who  sat  in 
the  cramped  cell  with  the  volume  of  a  favourite  poet 
before  him,  trying  to  think  how  it  would  seem  to  be 
out  under  the  stars. 

The  stillness  in  the  Senate-Chamber  was  breaking ; 
they  were  going  ahead  with  something  else.  It 
seemed  to  the  Senator  from  Johnson  that  sun,  moon, 
and  stars  were  wailing  out  protest  for  the  boy  who 
wanted  to  know  them  better.  And  yet  it  was  not 
sun,  moon,  and  stars  so  much  as  the  unused  swim 
ming  hole  and  the  uncaught  fish,  the  unattended  ball 
game,  the  never-seen  circus,  and,  above  all,  the  un 
owned  dog,  that  brought  Senator  Harrison  to  his 
feet. 

They  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  their  faces 
seeming  to  say  it  would  have  been  in  better  taste  for 
him  to  have  remained  seated  just  then. 

"  Mr.  President,"  he  said,  pulling  at  his  collar 
and  looking  straight  ahead,  "  I  rise  to  move  a  re 
consideration." 

There  was  a  gasp,  a  moment  of  supreme  quiet,  and 
then  a  mighty  burst  of  applause.  To  men  of  all 
parties  and  factions  there  came  a  single  thought. 
Johnson  was  the  leading  county  of  its  Congressional 
district.  There  was  an  election  that  fall,  and  Har 
rison  was  in  the  race.  Those  eight  words  meant  to 


38  LIFTED  MASKS 

a  surety  he  would  not  go  to  Washington,  for  the 
Senator  from  Maxwell  had  chosen  the  right  word 
when  he  referred  to  the  prejudice  of  Johnson 
County  on  the  Williams  case  as  "  undying."  The 
world  throbs  with  such  things  at  the  moment  of 
their  doing  —  even  though  condemning  them  later, 
and  the  part  of  the  world  then  packed  within  the 
Senate-Chamber  shared  the  universal  disposition. 

The  noise  astonished  Senator  Harrison,  and  he 
looked  around  with  something  like  resentment. 
When  the  tumult  at  last  subsided,  and  he  saw  that 
he  was  expected  to  make  a  speech,  he  grew  very  red, 
and  grasped  his  chair  desperately. 

The  reporters  were  back  in  their  places,  leaning 
nervously  forward.  This  was  Senator  Harrison's 
chance  to  say  something  worth  putting  into  a  panel 
by  itself  with  black  lines  around  it  —  and  they  were 
sure  he  would  do  it. 

But  he  did  not.  He  stood  there  like  a  school 
boy  who  had  forgotten  his  piece  —  growing  more 
and  more  red.  "I  —  I  think,"  he  finally  j erked 
out,  "  that  some  of  us  have  been  mistaken.  I'm  in 
favour  now  of  —  of  giving  him  his  chance." 

They  waited  for  him  to  proceed,  but  after  a  help 
less  look  around  the  Chamber  he  sat  down.  The 
president  of  the  Senate  waited  several  minutes  for 
him  to  rise  again,  but  he  at  last  turned  his  chair 
around  and  looked  out  at  the  green  things  on  the 
State-house  grounds,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 


THE  PLEA  39 

but  go  ahead  with  the  second  calling  of  the  roll. 
This  time  it  stood  50  to  12  in  favour  of  the  boy. 

A  motion  to  adjourn  immediately  followed  —  no 
one  wanted  to  do  anything  more  that  afternoon. 
They  all  wanted  to  say  things  to  the  Senator  from 
Johnson;  but  his  face  had  grown  cold,  and  as  they 
were  usually  afraid  of  him,  anyhow,  they  kept  away. 
All  but  Senator  Dorman  —  it  meant  too  much 
with  him.  "  Do  you  mind  my  telling  you,"  he  said, 
tensely,  "  that  it  was  as  fine  a  thing  as  I  have  ever 
known  a  man  to  do?  " 

The  Senator  from  Johnson  moved  impatiently. 
"  You  think  it  '  fine,'  "  he  asked,  almost  resentfully, 
"  to  be  a  coward  ?  " 

"  Coward?  "  cried  the  other  man.  "  Well,  that's 
scarcely  the  word.  It  was  —  heroic !  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Senator  Harrison,  and  he  spoke 
wearily,  "  it  was  a  clear  case  of  cowardice.  You 
see,"  he  laughed,  "  I  was  afraid  it  might  haunt  me 
when  I  am  seventy." 

Senator  Dorman  started  eagerly  to  speak,  but 
the  other  man  stopped  him  and  passed  on.  He  was 
seeing  it  as  his  constituency  would  see  it,  and  it  hu 
miliated  him.  They  would  say  he  had  not  the  cour 
age  of  his  convictions,  that  he  was  afraid  of  the  un 
popularity,  that  his  judgment  had  fallen  victim  to 
the  eloquence  of  the  Senator  from  Maxwell. 

But  when  he  left  the  building  and  came  out  into 
the  softness  of  the  April  afternoon  it  began  to  seem 


40  LIFTED  MASKS 

different.  After  all,  it  was  not  he  alone  who  leaned 
to  the  softer  side.  There  were  the  trees  —  they 
were  permitted  another  chance  to  bud;  there  were 
the  birds  —  they  were  allowed  another  chance  to 
sing ;  there  was  the  earth  —  to  it  was  given  another 
chance  to  yield.  There  stole  over  him  a  tranquil 
sense  of  unison!  with  Life. 


Ill 

FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS 

SURE  you're  done  with  it?  " 
"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  girl,  the  suggestion 
of   a   smile   on   her   face,    and   in   her  voice 
the  suggestion  of  a  tear.     "Yes;  I  was  just  go- 
ing." 

But  she  did  not  go.  She  turned  instead  to  the 
end  of  the  alcove  and  sat  down  before  a  table  placed 
by  the  window.  Leaning  her  elbows  upon  it  she 
looked  about  her  through  a  blur  of  tears. 

Seen  through  her  own  eyes  of  longing,  it  seemed 
that  almost  all  of  the  people  whom  she  could  see 
standing  before  the  files  of  the  daily  papers  were 
homesick.  The  reading-room  had  been  a  strange 
study  to  her  during  those  weeks  spent  in  fruitless 
search  for  the  work  she  wanted  to  do,  and  it  had  like 
wise  proved  a  strange  comfort.  When  tired  and  dis 
consolate  and  utterly  sick  at  heart  there  was  always 
one  thing  she  could  do  —  she  could  go  down  to  the 
library  and  look  at  the  paper  from  home.  It  was  not 
that  she  wanted  the  actual  news  of  Denver.  She  did 
not  care  in  any  vital  way  what  the  city  officials  were 
doing,  what  buildings  were  going  up,  or  who  was 
leaving  town.  She  was  only  indifferently  interested 

41 


42  LIFTED  MASKS 

in  the  fires  and  the  murders.  She  wanted  the  com 
forting  companionship  of  that  paper  from  home. 

It  seemed  there  were  many  to  whom  the  papers 
offered  that  same  sympathy,  companionship,  what 
ever  it  might  be.  More  than  anything  else  it  per 
haps  gave  to  them  —  the  searchers,  drifters  —  a 
sense  of  anchorage.  She  would  not  soon  forget  the 
day  she  herself  had  stumbled  in  there  and  found  the 
home  paper.  Chicago  had  given  her  nothing  but 
rebuffs  that  day,  and  in  desperation,  just  because  she 
must  go  somewhere,  and  did  not  want  to  go  back  to 
her  boarding-place,  she  had  hunted  out  the  city 
library.  It  was  when  walking  listlessly  about  in 
the  big  reading-room  it  had  occurred  to  her  that  per 
haps  she  could  find  the  paper  from  home ;  and  after 
that  when  things  were  their  worst,  when  her  throat 
grew  tight  and  her  eyes  dim,  she  could  always  com 
fort  herself  by  saying:  "  After  a  while  I'll  run  down 
and  look  at  the  paper." 

But  to-night  it  had  failed  her.  It  was  not  the 
paper  from  home  to-night;  it  was  just  a  newspaper. 
It  did  not  inspire  the  belief  that  things  would  be  bet 
ter  to-morrow,  that  it  must  all  come  right  soon.  It 
left  her  as  she  had  come  —  heavy  with  the  conscious 
ness  that  in  her  purse  was  eleven  dollars,  and  that 
that  was  every  cent  she  had  in  the  whole  world. 

It  was  hard  to  hold  back  the  tears  as  she  dwelt 
upon  the  fact  that  it  was  very  little  she  had  asked 
of  Chicago.  She  had  asked  only  a  chance  to  do  the 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  43 

work  for  which  she  was  trained,  in  order  that  she 
might  go  to  the  art  classes  at  night.  She  had  read 
in  the  papers  of  that  mighty  young  city  of  the  Mid 
dle  West  —  the  heart  of  the  continent —  of  its  brawn 
and  its  brain  and  its  grit.  She  had  supposed  that 
Chicago,  of  all  places,  would  appreciate  what  she 
wanted  to  do.  The  day  she  drew  her  hard-earned 
one  hundred  dollars  from  the  bank  in  Denver  —  how 
the  sun  had  shone  that  day  in  Denver,  how  clear  the 
sky  had  been,  and  how  bracing  the  air !  —  she  had 
quite  taken  it  for  granted  that  her  future  was  as 
sured.  And  now,  after  tasting  for  three  weeks  the 
cruelty  of  indifference,  she  looked  back  to  those  vis 
ions  with  a  hard  little  smile. 

She  rose  to  go,  and  in  so  doing  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  queer  little  woman  to  whom  she  had  yielded  her 
place  before  the  Denver  paper.  Submerged  as  she 
had  been  in  her  own  desolation  she  had  given  no  heed 
to  the  small  figure  which  came  slipping  along  beside 
her  beyond  the  bare  thought  that  she  was  queer- 
looking.  But  as  her  eyes  rested  upon  her  now 
there  was  something  about  the  woman  which  held  her. 

She  was  a  strange  little  figure.  An  old-fashioned 
shawl  was  pinned  tightly  about  her  shoulders,  and 
she  was  wearing  a  queer,  rusty  little  bonnet.  Her 
hair  was  rolled  up  in  a  small  knot  at  the  back  of  her 
head.  She  did  not  look  as  though  she  belonged  in 
Chicago.  And  then,  as  the  girl  stood  there  looking 
at  her,  she  saw  the  thin  shoulders  quiver,  and  after 


44  LIFTED  MASKS 

a  minute  the  head  that  was  wearing  the  rusty  bonnet 
went  down  into  the  folds  of  the  Denver  paper. 

The  girl's  own  eyes  filled,  and  she  turned  to  go. 
It  seemed  she  could  scarcely  bear  her  own  unhappi- 
ness  that  day,  without  coming  close  to  the  heartache 
of  another.  But  when  she  reached  the  end  of  the 
alcove  she  glanced  back,  and  the  sight  of  that  shabby, 
bent  figure,  all  alone  before  the  Denver  paper,  was 
not  to  be  withstood. 

"  I  am  from  Colorado,  too,"  she  said  softly,  laying 
a  hand  upon  the  bent  shoulders. 

The  woman  looked  up  at  that  and  took  the  girl's 
hand  in  both  of  her  thin,  trembling  ones.  It  was  a 
wan  and  a  troubled  face  she  lifted,  and  there  was 
something  about  the  eyes  which  would  not  seem  to 
have  been  left  there  by  tears  alone. 

"  And  do  you  have  a  pining  for  the  mountains?  " 
she  whispered,  with  a  timid  eagerness.  "  Do  you 
have  a  feeling  that  you  want  to  see  the  sun  go  down 
behind  them  to-night  and  that  you  want  to  see  the 
darkness  come  stealing  up  to  the  tops  ?  " 

The  girl  half  turned  away,  but  she  pressed  the 
woman's  hand  tightly  in  hers.  "  I  know  what  you 
mean,"  she  murmured. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  it  so  bad,"  continued  the  woman, 
tremulously,  "  that  something  just  drove  me  here  to 
this  paper.  I  knowed  it  was  here  because  my 
nephew's  wife  brought  me  here  one  day  and  we  come 
across  it.  We  took  this  paper  at  home  for  more 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  45 

'an  twenty  years.  That's  why  I  come.  'Twas  the 
closest  I  could  get." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  girl  again,  un 
steadily. 

"  And  it's  the  closest  I  will  ever  get !  "  sobbed  the 
woman. 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,"  protested  the  girl,  brush 
ing  away  her  own  tears,  and  trying  to  smile ;  "  you'll 
go  back  home  some  day." 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  "  And  if  I  should," 
she  said,  "  even  if  I  should,  'twill  be  too  late." 

"  But  it  couldn't  be  too  late,"  insisted  the  girl. 
"  The  mountains,  you  know,  will  be  there  forever." 

"  The  mountains  will  be  there  forever,"  repeated 
the  woman,  musingly ;  "  yes,  but  not  for  me  to  see." 
There  was  a  pause.  "  You  see,"  —  she  said  it 
quietly  —  "  I'm  going  blind." 

The  girl  took  a  quick  step  backward,  then  stretched 
out  two  impulsive  hands.  "  Oh,  no,  no  you're  not  1 
Why  —  the  doctors,  you  know,  they  do  everything 
now." 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  "  That's  what  I 
thought  when  I  come  here.  That's  why  I  come. 
But  I  saw  the  biggest  doctor  of  them  all  to-day  — 
they  all  say  he's  the  best  there  is  —  and  he  said  right 
out  'twas  no  use  to  do  anything.  He  said  'twas  — 
hopeless." 

Her  voice  broke  on  that  word.  "  You  see,"  she 
hurried  on,  "  I  wouldn't  care  so  much,  seems  like  I 


46  LIFTED  MASKS 

wouldn't  care  't  all,  if  I  could  get  there  first !  If  I 
could  see  the  sun  go  down  behind  them  just  one 
night!  If  I  could  see  the  black  shadows  come  slip- 
pin'  over  'em  just  once !  And  then,  if  just  one  morn 
ing —  just  once!  —  I  could  get  up  and  see  the  sun 
light  come  a  streamin'  —  oh,  you  know  how  it  looks ! 
You  know  what  't  is  I  want  to  see ! " 

"  Yes ;  but  why  can't  you  ?  Why  not  ?  You  won't 
go  —  your  eyesight  will  last  until  you  get  back 
home,  won't  it?  " 

"  But  I  can't  go  back  home ;  not  now." 

"Why  not?"  demanded  the  girl.  "Why  can't 
you  go  home?  " 

"  Why,  there  ain't  no  money,  my  dear,"  she  ex 
plained,  patiently.  "  It's  a  long  way  off  —  Colo 
rado  is,  and  there  ain't  no  money.  Now,  George  — 
George  is  my  brother-in-law  —  he  got  me  the  money 
to  come ;  but  you  see  it  took  it  all  to  come  here,  and 
to  pay  them  doctors  with.  And  George  —  he  ain't 
rich,  and  it  pinched  him  hard  for  me  to  come  —  he 
says  I'll  have  to  wait  until  he  gets  money  laid  up 
again,  and  —  well  he  can't  tell  just  when  't  will  be. 
He'll  send  it  soon  as  he  gets  it,"  she  hastened  to  add. 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  in  the  meantime? 
It  would  cost  less  to  get  you  home  than  to  keep  you 
here." 

"  No,  I  stay  with  my  nephew  here.  He's  willin' 
I  should  stay  with  him  till  I  get  my  money  to  go 
home." 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  47 

"  Yes,  but  this  nephew,  can't  he  get  you  the  money? 
Doesn't  he  know,"  she  insisted,  heatedly,  "  what  it 
means  to  you?  " 

"  He's  got  five  children,  and  not  much  laid  up. 
And  then,  he  never  seen  the  mountains.  He  doesn't 
know  what  I  mean  when  I  try  to  tell  him  about  get- 
tin'  there  in  time.  Why,  he  says  there's  many  a 
one  living  back  in  the  mountains  would  like  to  be 
livin'  here.  He  don't  understand  —  my  nephew 
don't,"  she  added,  apologetically. 

"  Well,  someone  ought  to  understand ! "  broke 
from  the  girl.  "  I  understand !  But  — "  she  did  her 
best  to  make  it  a  laugh  — "  eleven  dollars  is  every 
cent  I've  got  in  the  world ! " 

"  Don't !  "  implored  the  woman,  as  the  girl  gave 
up  trying  to  control  the  tears.  "  Now,  don't  you 
be  botherin'.  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  feel  so 
bad.  My  nephew  says  I  ain't  reasonable,  and  maybe 
I  ain't." 

The  girl  raised  her  head.  "  But  you  are  reason 
able.  I  tell  you,  you  are  reasonable !  " 

"  I  must  be  going  back,"  said  the  woman,  uncer 
tainly.  "  I'm  just  making  you  feel  bad,  and  it  won't 
do  no  good.  And  then  they  may  be  stirred  up  about 
me.  Emma  —  Emma's  my  nephew's  wife  —  left  me 
at  the  doctor's  office  'cause  she  had  some  trading  to 
do,  and  she  was  to  come  back  there  for  me.  And 
then,  as  I  was  sittin'  there,  the  pinin'  came  over  me 
so  strong  it  seemed  I  just  must  get  up  and  start! 


48  LIFTED  MASKS 

And  "  —  she  smiled  wanly  —  "  this  was  far  as  I 
got." 

"  Come  over  and  sit  down  by  this  table,"  said  the 
girl,  impulsively,  "  and  tell  me  a  little  about  your 
home  back  in  the  mountains.  Wouldn't  you  like 
to?" 

The  woman  nodded  gratefully.  "  Seems  most 
like  getting  back  to  them  to  find  someone  that  knows 
about  them,"  she  said,  after  they  had  drawn  their 
chairs  up  to  the  table  and  were  sitting  there  side  by 
side. 

The  girl  put  her  rounded  hand  over  on  the  thin, 
withered  one.  "  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said  again. 

"  Maybe  it  wouldn't  be  much  interesting  to  you, 
my  dear.  It's  just  a  common  life  —  mine  is.  You 
see,  William  and  I  —  William  was  my  husband  — 
we  went  to  Georgetown  before  it  really  was  any  town 
at  all.  Years  and  years  before  the  railroad  went 
through,  we  was  there.  Was  you  ever  there?  "  she 
asked  wistfully. 

"  Oh,  very  often,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  love  every 
inch  of  that  country !  " 

A  tear  stole  down  the  woman's  face.  "  It's  most 
like  being  home  to  find  someone  that  knows  about  it," 
she  whispered. 

"  Yes,  William  and  I  went  there  when  'twas  all 
new  country,"  she  went  on,  after  a  pause.  "  We 
worked  hard,  and  we  laid  up  a  little  money.  Then, 
three  years  ago,  William  took  sick.  He  was  sick 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  49 

for  a  year,  and  we  had  to  live  up  most  of  what  we'd 
saved.  That's  why  I  ain't  got  none  now.  It  ain't 
that  William  didn't  provide." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  We  seen  some  hard  days.  But  we  was  always 
harmonious  —  William  and  I  was.  And  William 
had  a  great  fondness  for  the  mountains.  The  night 
before  he  died  he  made  them  take  him  over  by  the 
window  and  he  looked  out  and  watched  the  darkness 
come  stealin'  over  the  daylight  —  you  know  how  it 
does  in  them  mountains.  6  Mother,'  he  said  to  me 
—  his  voice  was  that  low  I  could  no  more  'an  hear 
what  he  said  — '  I'll  never  see  another  sun  go  down, 
but  I'm  thankful  I  seen  this  one.'  " 

She  was  crying  outright  now,  and  the  girl  did  not 
try  to  stop  her. 

"  And  that's  the  reason  I  love  the  mountains," 
she  whispered  at  last.  "  It  ain't  just  that  they're 
grand  and  wonderful  to  look  at.  It  ain't  just  the 
things  them  tourists  sees  to  talk  about.  But  the 
mountains  has  always  been  like  a  comfortin'  friend 
to  me.  John  and  Sarah  is  buried  there  —  John  and 
Sarah  is  my  two  children  that  died  of  fever.  And 
then  William  is  there  —  like  I  just  told  you.  And 
the  mountains  was  a  comfort  to  me  in  all  those  times 
of  trouble.  They're  like  an  old  friend.  Seems  like 
they're  the  best  friend  I've  got  on  earth." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  girl,  brokenly. 
"  J  know  all  about  it." 


50  LIFTED  MASKS 

"And  you  don't  think  I'm  just  notional,"  she 
asked  wistfully,  "  in  pinin'  to  get  back  while  —  whilst 
I  can  look  at  them?" 

The  girl  held  the  old  hand  tightly  in  hers  with  a 
clasp  more  responsive  than  words. 

"  It  ain't  but  I'd  know  they  was  there.  I  could 
feel  they  was  there  all  right,  but  " —  her  voice  sank 
with  the  horror  of  it  — "  I'm  'fraid  I  might  forget 
just  how  they  look!" 

"  Oh,  but  you  won't,"  the  girl  assured  her. 
"  You'll  remember  just  how  they  look." 

"  I'm  scared  of  it.  I'm  scared  there  might  be 
something  I'd  forget.  And  so  I  just  torment  myself 
thinkin'  —  *  Now  do  I  remember  this  ?  Can  I  see 
just  how  that  looks?'  That's  the  way  I  got  to 
thinkin'  up  in  the  doctor's  office,  when  he  told  me 
there  was  nothing  to  do,  and  I  was  so  worked  up  it 
seemed  I  must  get  up  and  start !  " 

"  You  must  try  not  to  worry  about  it,"  mur 
mured  the  girl.  "  You'll  remember." 

"  Well,  maybe  so.  Maybe  I  will.  But  that's  why 
I  want  just  one  more  look.  If  I  could  look  once  more 
I'd  remember  it  forever.  You  see  I'd  look  to  re 
member  it,  and  I  would.  And  do  you  know  —  seems 
like  I  wouldn't  mind  going  blind  so  much  then? 
When  I'd  sit  facin'  them  I'd  just  say  to  myself: 
'  Now  I  know  just  how  they  look.  I'm  seeing  them 
just  as  if  I  had  my  eyes!*  The  doctor  says  my 
sight  '11  just  kind  of  slip  away,  and  when  I  look  my 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  51 

last  look,  when  it  gets  dimmer  and  dimmer  to  me, 
I  want  the  last  thing  I  see  to  be  them  mountains 
where  William  and  me  worked  and  was  so  happy! 
Seems  like  I  can't  bear  it  to  have  my  sight  slip  away 
here  in  Chicago,  where  there's  nothing  I  want  to 
look  at !  And  then  to  have  a  little  left  —  to  have 
just  a  little  left! — and  to  know  I  could  see  if  I 
was  there  to  look  —  and  to  know  that  when  I  get 
there  'twill  be  —  Oh,  I'll  be  rebellious-like  here  — 
and  I'd  be  contented  there !  I  don't  want  to  be  com- 
plainin'  —  I  don't  want  to!  —  but  when  I've  only 
got  a  little  left  I  want  it  —  oh,  I  want  it  for  them 
things  I  want  to  see !  " 

"  You  will  see  them,"  insisted  the  girl  passionately. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  believe  the  world  can  be  so  hideous 
as  that !  " 

"  Well,  maybe  so,"  said  the  woman,  rising.  "  But 
I  don't  know  where  'twill  come  from,"  she  added 
doubtfully. 

She  took  her  back  to  the  doctor's  office  and  left 
her  in  the  care  of  the  stolid  Emma.  "  Seems  most 
like  I'd  been  back  home,"  she  said  in  parting;  and 
the  girl  promised  to  come  and  see  her  and  talk  with 
her  about  the  mountains.  The  woman  thought  that 
talking  about  them  would  help  her  to  remember  just 
how  they  looked. 

And  then  the  girl  returned  to  the  library.  She 
did  not  know  why  she  did  so.  In  truth  she  scarcely 
knew  she  was  going  there  until  she  found  herself  sit- 


52  LIFTED  MASKS 

ting  before  that  same  secluded  table  at  which  she 
and  the  woman  had  sat  a  little  while  before.  For  a 
long  time  she  sat  there  with  her  head  in  her  hands, 
tears  falling  upon  a  pad  of  yellow  paper  on  the 
table  before  her. 

Finally  she  dried  her  eyes,  opened  her  purse,  and 
counted  her  money.  It  seemed  that  out  of  her  great 
desire,  out  of  her  great  new  need,  there  must  be  more 
than  she  had  thought.  But  there  was  not,  and  she 
folded  her  hands  upon  the  two  five-dollar  bills  and  the 
one  silver  dollar  and  looked  hopelessly  about  the  big 
room. 

She  had  forgotten  her  own  disappointments,  her 
own  loneliness.  She  was  oblivious  to  everything  in 
the  world  now  save  what  seemed  the  absolute  neces 
sity  of  getting  the  woman  back  to  the  mountains 
while  she  had  eyes  to  see  them. 

But  what  could  she  do?  Again  she  counted  the 
money.  She  could  make  herself,  some  way  or 
other,  get  along  without  one  of  the  five-dollar  bills, 
but  five  dollars  would  not  take  one  very  close  to  the 
mountains.  It  was  at  that  moment  that  she  saw  a 
man  standing  before  the  Denver  paper,  and  noticed 
that  another  man  was  waiting  to  take  his  place.  The 
one  who  was  reading  had  a  dinner  pail  in  his  hand. 
The  clothes  of  the  other  told  that  he,  too,  was  of  the 
world's  workers.  It  was  clear  to  the  girl  that  the 
man  at  the  file  was  reading  the  paper  from  home; 
and  the  man  who  was  ready  to  take  his  place  looked 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  53 

as  if  waiting  for  something  less  impersonal  than  the 
news  of  the  day. 

The  idea  came  upon  her  with  such  suddenness,  so 
full  born,  that  it  made  her  gasp.  They  —  the  peo 
ple  who  came  to  read  the  Denver  paper,  the  people 
who  loved  the  mountains  and  were  far  from  them, 
the  people  who  were  themselves  homesick  and  full  of 
longing  —  were  the  people  to  understand. 

It  took  her  but  a  minute  to  act.  She  put  the  sil 
ver  dollar  and  one  five-dollar  bill  back  in  her  purse. 
She  clutched  the  other  bill  in  her  left  hand,  picked 
up  a  pencil,  and  began  to  write.  She  headed  the  pe 
tition  :  "  To  all  who  know  and  love  the  mountains," 
and  she  told  the  story  with  the  simpleness  of  one 
speaking  from  the  heart,  and  the  directness  of  one 
who  speaks  to  those  sure  to  understand.  "And  so  I 
found  her  here  by  the  Denver  paper,"  she  said,  after 
she  had  stated  the  tragic  facts,  "  because  it  was  the 
closest  she  could  come  to  the  mountains.  Her  heart 
is  not  breaking  because  she  is  going  blind.  It  is 
breaking  because  she  may  never  again  look  with  see 
ing  eyes  upon  those  great  hills  which  rise  up  about 
her  home.  We  must  do  it  for  her  simply  because  we 
would  wish  that,  under  like  circumstances,  someone 
would  do  it  for  us.  She  belongs  to  us  because  we  un 
derstand. 

"  If  you  can  only  give  fifty  cents,  please  do  not 
hold  it  back  because  it  seems  but  little.  Fifty  cents 
will  take  her  twenty  miles  nearer  home  —  twenty 


54  LIFTED  MASKS 

miles  closer  to  the  things  upon  which  she  longs  that 
her  last  seeing  glance  may  fall." 

After  she  had  written  it  she  rose,  and,  the  five- 
dollar  bill  in  one  hand,  the  sheets  of  yellow  paper  in 
the  other,  walked  down  the  long  room  to  the  desk  at 
which  one  of  the  librarians  sat.  The  girl's  cheeks 
were  very  red,  her  eyes  shining  as  she  poured  out  the 
story.  They  mingled  their  tears,  for  the  girl  at  the 
desk  was  herself  young  and  far  from  home,  and  then 
they  walked  back  to  the  Denver  paper  and  pinned 
the  sheets  of  yellow  paper  just  above  the  file.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  petition  the  librarian  wrote: 
"  Leave  your  money  at  the  desk  in  this  room.  It 
will  be  properly  attended  to."  The  girl  from  Colo 
rado  then  turned  over  her  five-dollar  bill  and  passed 
out  into  the  gathering  night. 

Her  heart  was  brimming  with  joy.  "  I  can  get  a 
cheaper  boarding  place,"  she  told  herself,  as  she 
joined  the  home-going  crowds,  "  and  until  something 
else  turns  up  I'll  just  look  around  and  see  if  I  can't 

get  a  place  in  a  store." 

•  •••••• 

One  by  one  they  had  gathered  around  while  the 
woman  was  telling  the  story.  "  And  so,  if  you  don't 
mind,"  she  said,  in  conclusion,  "  I'd  like  to  have  you 
put  in  a  little  piece  that  I  got  to  Denver  safe,  so's 
they  can  see  it.  They  was  all  so  worked  up  about 
when  I'd  get  here.  Would  that  cost  much?  "  she 
asked  timidly. 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  HILLS  55 

"  Not  a  cent,"  said  the  city  editor,  his  voice  gruff 
with  the  attempt  to  keep  it  steady. 

"  You  might  say,  if  it  wouldn't  take  too  much 
room,  that  I  was  much  pleased  with  the  prospect  of 
getting  home  before  sundown  to-night." 

"  You  needn't  worry  but  what  we'll  say  it  all,"  he 
assured  her.  "  We'll  say  a  great  deal  more  than  you 
have  any  idea  of." 

"  I'm  very  thankful  to  you,"  she  said,  as  she  rose 
to  go. 

They  sat  there  for  a  moment  in  silence.  "  When 
one  considers,"  someone  began,  "  that  they  were  peo 
ple  who  were  pushed  too  close  even  to  subscribe  to  a 
daily  paper  —  " 

"  When  one  considers,"  said  the  city  editor,  "  that 
the  girl  who  started  it  had  just  eleven  dollars  to  her 
name  —  "  And  then  he,  too,  stopped  abruptly  and 
there  was  another  long  moment  of  silence. 

After  that  he  looked  around  at  the  reporters. 
"  Well,  it's  too  bad  you  can't  all  have  it,  when  it's  so 
big  a  chance,  but  I  guess  it  falls  logically  to  Ray 
mond.  And  in  writing  it,  just  remember,  Raymond, 
that  the  biggest  stories  are  not  written  about  wars, 
or  about  politics,  or  even  murders.  The  biggest 
stories  are  written  about  the  things  which  draw  hu 
man  beings  closer  together.  And  the  chance  to 
write  them  doesn't  come  every  day,  or  every  year,  or 
every  lifetime.  And  I'll  tell  you,  boys,  all  of  you, 
when  it  seems  sometimes  that  the  milk  of  human 


56  LIFTED  MASKS 

kindness  has  all  turned  sour,  just  think  back  to  the 
little  story  you  heard  this  afternoon." 

Slowly  the  sun  slipped  down  behind  the  mountains  ; 
slowly  the  long  purple  shadows  deepened  to  black; 
and  with  the  coming  of  the  night  there  settled  over 
the  everlasting  hills,  and  over  the  soul  of  one  who 
had  returned  to  them,  that  satisfying  calm  that  men 
call  peace. 


IV 

FRECKLES  M'GRATH 

MANY  visitors  to  the  State-house  made  the 
mistake  of  looking  upon  the  Governor  as 
the  most  important  personage  in  the 
building.  They  would  walk  up  and  down  the  corri 
dors,  hoping  for  a  glimpse  of  some  of  the  leading  of 
ficials,  when  all  the  while  Freckles  McGrath,  the  real 
character  of  the  Capitol,  and  by  all  odds  the  most  il 
lustrious  person  in  it,  was  at  once  accessible  and  af 
fable. 

Freckles  McGrath  was  the  elevator  boy.  In  the 
official  register  his  name  had  gone  down  as  William, 
but  that  was  a  mere  concession  to  the  constituents  to 
whom  the  official  register  was  sent  out.  In  the  news 
papers —  and  he  appeared  with  frequency  in  the 
newspapers  —  he  was  always  "  Freckles,"  and  every 
one  from  the  Governor  down  gave  him  that  title,  the 
appropriateness  of  which  was  stamped  a  hundred  fold 
upon  his  shrewd,  jolly  Irish  face. 

Like  every  one  else  on  the  State  pay-roll,  Freck 
les  was  keyed  high  during  this  first  week  of  the  new 
session.  It  was  a  reform  Legislature,  and  so  imbued 
was  it  with  the  idea  of  reforming  that  there  was 
grave  danger  of  its  forcing  reformation  upon  every- 

57 


58  LIFTED  MASKS 

thing  in  sight.  It  happened  that  the  Governor  was 
of  the  same  faction  of  the  party  as  that  dominant  in 
the  Legislature ;  reform  breathed  through  every  nook 
and  crevice  of  the  great  building. 

But  high  above  all  else  in  importance  towered  the 
Kelley  Bill.  From  the  very  opening  of  the  session 
there  was  scarcely  a  day  when  some  of  Freckles'  pas 
sengers  did  not  in  hushed  whispers  mention  the  Kel 
ley  Bill.  From  what  he  could  pick  up  about  the 
building,  and  what  he  read  in  the  newspapers,  Freck 
les  put  together  a  few  ideas  as  to  what  the  Kelley 
Bill  really  was.  It  was  a  great  reform  measure,  and 
it  was  going  to  show  the  railroads  that  they  did  not 
own  the  State.  The  railroads  were  going  to  have  to 
pay  more  taxes,  and  they  were  making  an  awful  fuss 
about  it ;  but  if  the  Kelley  Bill  could  be  put  through 
it  would  be  a  great  victory  for  reform,  and  would 
make  the  Governor  "  solid  "  in  the  State. 

Freckles  McGrath  was  strong  for  reform.  That 
was  partly  because  the  snatches  of  speeches  he  heard 
in  the  Legislature  were  more  thrilling  when  for  re 
form  than  when  against  it ;  it  was  partly  because  he 
adored  the  Governor,  and  in  no  small  part  because 
he  despised  Mr.  Ludlow. 

Mr.  Ludlow  was  a  lobbyist.  Some  of  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Legislature  were  Mr.  Ludlow's  property 
—  or  at  least  so  Freckles  inferred  from  conversation 
overheard  at  his  post.  There  had  been  a  great  deal 
of  talk  that  session  about  Mr.  Ludlow's  methods. 


FRECKLES  M'GRATH  59 

Freckles  himself  was  no  snob.  Although  he  had 
heard  Mr.  Ludlow  called  disgraceful,  and  although 
he  firmly  believed  he  was  disgraceful,  he  did  not  con 
sider  that  any  reason  for  not  speaking  to  him.  And 
so  when  Mr.  Ludlow  got  in  all  alone  one  morning, 
and  the  occasion  seemed  to  demand  recognition  of 
some  sort,  Freckles  had  chirped :  "  Good-morning !  " 

But  the  man,  possibly  deep  in  something  else, 
simply  knit  together  his  brows  and  gave  no  sign  of 
having  heard.  After  that,  Henry  Ludlow,  lobby 
ist,  and  Freckles  McGrath,  elevator  boy,  were  ene 
mies. 

A  little  before  noon,  one  day  near  the  end  of  the 
session,  a  member  of  the  Senate  and  a  member  of  the 
House  rode  down  together  in  the  elevator. 

"  There's  no  use  waiting  any  longer,"  the  Senator 
was  saying  as  they  got  in.  "  We're  as  strong  now 
as  we're  going  to  be.  It's  a  matter  of  Stacy's  vote, 
and  that's  a  matter  of  who  sees  him  last." 

Freckles  widened  out  his  ears  and  gauged  the  ele 
vator  for  very  slow  running.  Stacy  had  been  writ 
ten  up  in  the  papers  as  a  wabbler  on  the  Kelley  Bill. 

"  He's  all  right  now,"  pursued  the  Senator,  "  but 
there's  every  chance  that  Ludlow  will  see  him  before 
he  casts  his  vote  this  afternoon,  and  then  —  oh,  I 
don't  know !  "  and  with  a  weary  little  flourish  of  his 
hands  the  Senator  stepped  off. 

Freckles  McGrath  sat  wrapped  in  deep  thought. 
The  Kelley  Bill  was  coming  up  in  the  Senate  that 


60  LIFTED  MASKS 

afternoon.  If  Senator  Stacy  voted  for  it,  it  would 
pass.  If  he  voted  against  it,  it  would  fail.  He 
would  vote  for  it  if  he  didn't  see  Mr.  Ludlow;  he 
wouldn't  vote  for  it  if  he  did.  That  was  the  situa 
tion,  and  the  Governor's  whole  future,  Freckles  felt, 
was  at  stake. 

The  bell  rang  sharply,  and  he  was  vaguely  con 
scious  then  that  it  had  been  ringing  before.  In  the 
next  half-hour  he  was  very  busy  taking  down  the 
members  of  the  Legislature.  Strangely  enough, 
Senator  Stacy  and  the  Governor  went  down  the 
same  trip,  and  Freckles  beamed  with  approbation 
when,  he  saw  them  walk  out  of  the  building  together. 

Stacy  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  senators  to  re 
turn.  Freckles  sized  him  up  keenly  as  he  stepped 
into  the  elevator,  and  decided  that  he  was  still  firm. 
But  there  was  a  look  about  Senator  Stacy's  mouth 
which  suggested  that  there  was  no  use  in  being  too 
surd  of  him.  Freckles  considered  the  advisability  of 
bursting  forth  and  telling  him  how  much  better  it 
would  be  to  stick  with  the  reform  fellows;  but  just 
as  the  boy  got  his  courage  screwed  up  to  speaking 
point,  Senator  Stacy  got  off. 

About  ten  minutes  later  Freckles  had  the  elevator 
on  the  ground  floor,  and  was  sitting  there  reading  a 
paper,  when  he  heard  a  step  that  made  him  prick 
up  his  ears.  The  next  minute  Mr.  Ludlow  turned 
the  corner.  He  was  immaculately  dressed,  as  usual, 
and  his  iron-grey  moustache  seemed  to  stand  out  just 


FRECKLES  M'GRATH  61 

a  little  more  pompously  than  ever.  There  was  a 
sneering  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  stepped  into  the  car. 
It  seemed  to  be  saying :  "  They  thought  they  could 
beat  me,  did  they?  Oh,  they're  easy,  they  are!" 

Freckles  McGrath  slammed  the  door  of  the  cage 
and  started  the  car  up.  He  did  not  know  what  he 
was  going  to  do,  but  he  had  an  idea  that  he  did  not 
want  any  other  passenger.  When  half  way  between 
the  basement  and  the  first  floor,  he  stopped  the  ele 
vator.  He  must  have  time  to  think.  If  he  took 
that  man  up  to  the  Senate  Chamber,  he  would  sim 
ply  strike  the  death-blow  to  reform !  And  so  he 
knelt  and  pretended  to  be  fixing  something,  and  he 
thought  fast  and  hard.  ; 

"Something  broke?"  asked  an  anxious  voice. 

Freckles  looked  around  into  Mr.  Ludlow's  face, 
and  he  saw  that  the  eminent  lobbyist  was  nervous. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  calmly.  "  It's  acting  queer. 
Something's  all  out  of  whack." 

"  Well,  drop  it  to  the  basement  and  let  me  out," 
said  Mr  Ludlow  sharply, 

"Can't  drop  it,"  responded  Freckles.  "She's 
stuck."  ' 

Mr.  Ludlow  came  and  looked  things  over,  but  his 
knowledge  did  not  extend  to  the  mechanism  of  ele 
vators. 

"  Better  call  someone  to  come  and  take  us  out," 
he  said  nervously. 

Freckles  straightened  himself  up.     A  glitter  had 


62  LIFTED  MASKS 

come  into  his  small  grey  eyes,  and  red  spots  were 
burning  in  his  freckled  cheeks. 

"  I  think  she'll  run  now,"  he  said. 

And  she  did  run.  Never  in  all  its  history  had 
that  State-house  elevator  run  as  it  ran  then.  It 
rushed  past  the  first  and  second  floors  like  a  thing 
let  loose,  with  an  utter  abandonment  that  caused 
the  blood  to  forsake  the  eminent  lobbyist's  face. 

"  Stop  it,  boy ! "  he  cried  in  alarm. 

"  Can't !  "  responded  Freckles,  his  voice  thick  with 
terror.  "  Running  away !  "  he  gasped. 

"  Will  it  —  fall?  "  whispered  the  lobbyist. 

"I  — I  think  so!"  blubbered  Freckles. 

The  central  portion  of  the  State-house  was  very 
high.  Above  that  part  of  the  building  which  was 
in  use  there  was  a  long  stretch  leading  to  the  tower. 
The  shaft  had  been  built  clear  up,  though  practically 
unused.  Past  floors  used  for  store-rooms,  past  floors 
used  for  nothing  at  all,  they  went  —  the  man's  face 
white,  the  boy  wailing  out  incoherent  supplications. 
And  then,  within  ten  feet  of  the  top  of  the  shaft,  and 
within  a  foot  of  the  top  floor  of  the  building,  the 
elevator  came  to  a  rickety  stop.  It  wabbled  back 
and  forth;  it  did  strange  and  terrible  things. 

"  She's  falling!  "  panted  Freckles.     "  Climb!  " 

And  Henry  Ludlow  climbed.  He  got  the  door 
open,  and  he  clambered  up.  No  sooner  had  the 
man's  feet  touched  the  solid  floor  than  Freckles 
reached  up  and  slammed  the  door  of  the  cage.  Why 


FRECKLES  M'GRATH  63 

he  did  that  he  was  not  sure  at  the  time.  Later  he 
felt  that  something  had  warned  him  not  to  give  his 
prisoner's  voice  a  full  sweep  down  the  shaft. 

Henry  Ludlow  was  far  from  dull.  As  he  saw 
the  quick  but  even  descent  of  the  car,  he  knew  that 
he  had  been  tricked.  He  would  have  been  more 
than  human  had  there  not  burst  from  him  furious 
and  threatening  words.  But  what  was  the  use? 
The  car  was  going  down  —  down  —  down,  and  there 
he  was,  perhaps  hundreds  of  feet  above  any  one  else 
in  the  building  —  alone,  tricked,  beaten ! 

Of  course  he  tried  the  door  at  the  head  of  the 
winding  stairway,  knowing  full  well  that  it  would 
be  locked.  They  always  kept  it  locked;  he  had 
heard  one  of  the  janitors  asking  for  the  keys  to  take 
a  party  up  just  a  few  days  before.  Perhaps  he 
could  get  out  on  top  of  the  building  and  make  sig 
nals  of  distress.  But  the  door  leading  outside  was 
locked  also.  There  he  was  —  helpless.  And  below 
—  well,  below  they  were  passing  the  Kelley  Bill ! 

He  rattled  the  grating  of  the  elevator  shaft.  He 
made  strange,  loud  noises,  knowing  all  the  while  he 
could  not  make  himself  heard.  And  then  at  last, 
alone  in  the  State-house  attic,  Henry  Ludlow,  emi 
nent  lobbyist,  sat  down  on  a  box  and  nursed  his  fury. 

Below,  Freckles  McGrath,  the  youngest  champion 
of  reform  in  the  building,  was  putting  on  a  bold 
front.  He  laughed  and  he  talked  and  he  whistled. 
He  took  people  up  and  down  with  as  much  non- 


64  LIFTED  MASKS 

chalance  as  if  he  did  not  know  that  up  at  the  top 
of  that  shaft  angry  eyes  were  straining  themselves 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  car,  and  terrible  curses  were  de 
scending,  literally,  upon  his  stubby  red  head. 

It  was  a  great  afternoon  at  the  State-house. 
Every  one  thronged  to  the  doors  of  the  Senate 
Chamber,  where  they  were  putting  through  the  Kel- 
ley  Bill.  The  speeches  made  in  behalf  of  the  meas 
ure  were  brief.  The  great  thing  now  was  not  to 
make  speeches ;  it  was  to  reach  "  S  "  on  roll-call  be 
fore  a  man  with  iron-grey  hair  and  an  iron-grey 
moustache  could  come  in  and  say  something  to  the 
fair-haired  member  with  the  weak  mouth  who  sat 
near  the  rear  of  the  chamber. 

Freckles  was  called  away  just  as  it  went  to  a  vote. 
When  he  came  back  Senator  Kelley  was  standing 
out  in  the  corridor,  and  a  great  crowd  of  men  were 
standing  around  slapping  him  on  the  back.  The 
Governor  himself  was  standing  on  the  steps  of  the 
Senate  Chamber;  his  eyes  were  bright,  and  he  was 
smiling. 

Freckles  turned  his  car  back  to  the  basement. 
He  wanted  to  be  all  alone  for  a  minute,  to  dwell  in 
solitude  upon  the  fact  that  it  was  he,  Freckles  Mc- 
Grath,  who  had  won  this  great  victory  for  reform. 
It  was  he,  Freckles  McGrath,  who  had  assured  the 
Governor's  future.  Why,  perhaps  he  had  that  aft 
ernoon  made  for  himself  a  name  which  would  be 
handed  down  in  the  histories ! 


FRECKLES  M'GRATH  65 

Freckles  was  a  kind  little  boy,  and  he  knew  that 
an  elegant  gentleman  could  not  find  the  attic  any 
too  pleasant  a  place  in  which  to  spend  the  afternoon. 
So  he  decided  to  go  up  and  get  Mr.  Ludlow.  It 
took  courage;  but  he  had  won  his  victory  and  this 
was  no  time  for  faltering. 

There  was  something  gruesome  about  the  long 
ascent.  He  thought  of  stories  he  had  read  of  lonely 
turrets  in  which  men  were  beheaded,  and  otherwise 
made  away  with.  It  seemed  he  would  never  come 
to  the  top,  and  when  at  last  he  did  it  was  to  find 
two  of  the  most  awful-looking  eyes  he  had  ever  seen 
—  eyes  that  looked  as  though  furies  were  going  to 
escape  from  them  —  peering  down  upon  him. 

The  sight  of  that  car,  moving  smoothly  and  se 
curely  up  to  the  top,  and  the  sight  of  that  audacious 
little  boy  with  the  freckled  face  and  the  bat-like 
eyes,  that  little  boy  who  had  played  his  game  so  well, 
who  had  wrought  such  havoc,  was  too  much  for 
Henry  Ludlow's  self-control.  Words  such  as  he 
had  never  used  before,  such  as  he  would  not  have  sup 
posed  himself  capable  of  using,  burst  from  him. 
But  Freckles  stood  calmly  gazing  up  at  the  infuriated 
lobbyist,  and  just  as  Mr.  Ludlow  was  saying,  "  I'll 
beat  your  head  open,  you  little  brat ! "  he  calmly  re 
versed  the  handle  and  sent  the  car  skimming 
smoothly  to  realms  below.  He  was  followed  by  an 
angry  yell,  and  then  by  a  loud  request  to  return,  but 
he  heeded  them  not,  and  for  some  time  longer  the  car 


66  LIFTED  MASKS 

made  its  usual  rounds  between  the  basement  and  the 
legislative  chambers. 

In  just  an  hour  Freckles  tried  it  again.  He  sent 
the  car  to  within  three  feet  of  the  attic  floor,  and 
then  peered  through  the  grating,  his  face  tied  in  a 
knot  of  interrogation.  The  eminent  lobbyist  stood 
there  gulping  down  wrath  and  pride,  knowing  well 
enough  what  was  expected  of  him. 

"  Oh  —  all  right,"  he  muttered  at  last,  and  with 
that  much  of  an  understanding  Freckles'  sent  the  car 
up,  opened  the  door,  and  Henry  Ludlow  stepped  in. 

No  word  was  spoken  between  them  until  the  light 
from  the  floor  upon  which  the  Senate  Chamber  was 
situated  came  in  view.  Then  Freckles  turned  with 
a  polite  inquiry  as  to  where  the  gentleman  wished  to 
get  off. 

"  You  may  take  me  down  to  the  office  of  the  Gov 
ernor,"  said  Mr.  Ludlow  stonily,  meaningly. 

"  Sure,"  said  Freckles  cheerfully.  «  Guess  you'll 
find  the  Governor  in  his  office  now.  He's  been  in 
the  Senate  most  of  the  afternoon,  watching  'em 
pass  that  Kelley  Bill." 

Mr.  Ludlow's  lips  drew  in  tightly.  He  squared  his 
shoulders,  and  his  silence  was  tremendous. 

In  just  fifteen  minutes  Freckles  was  sent  for 
from  the  executive  office. 

"  I  demand  his  discharge ! "  Mr.  Ludlow  was  say 
ing  as  the  elevator  boy  entered. 

"  It  happens  you're  not  running  this  building," 


FRECKLES  M'GRATH  67 

the  Governor  returned  with  a  good  deal  of  acidity. 
"  Though  of  course,"  he  added  with  dignity,  "  the 
matter  will  be  carefully  investigated." 

The  Governor  was  one  great  chuckle  inside,  and 
his  heart  was  full  of  admiration  and  gratitude ;  but 
would  Freckles  be  equal  to  bluffing  it  through? 
Would  the  boy  have  the  finesse,  the  nice  subtlety, 
the  real  master  hand,  the  situation  demanded?  If 
not,  then  —  imp  of  salvation  though  he  was  —  in 
the  interest  of  reform,  Freckles  would  have  to  go. 

It  was  a  very  innocent  looking  boy  who  stood  be 
fore  him  and  looked  inquiringly  into  his  face. 

"  William,"  began  the  Governor  —  Freckles  was 
pained  at  first,  and  then  remembered  that  officially 
he  was  William  —  "  this  gentleman  has  made  a  very 
serious  charge  against  you." 

Freckles  looked  at  Mr.  Ludlow  in  a  hurt  way,  and 
waited  for  the  Governor  to  proceed. 

"  He  says,"  went  on  the  chief  executive,  "  that 
you  deliberately  took  him  to  the  top  of  the  building 
and  wilfully  left  him  there  a  prisoner  all  afternoon. 
Did  you  do  that?" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  burst  forth  Freckles,  "  I  did  the  very 
best  I  could  to  save  his  life !  I  was  willing  to  sacri 
fice  mine  for  him.  I  —  " 

"  You  little  liar !  "  broke  in  Ludlow. 

The  Governor  held  up  his  hand.  "  You  had  your 
chance.  Let  him  have  his." 

"  You  see,  Governor,"  began  Freckles,  as  if  anx- 


68  LIFTED  MASKS 

ious  to  set  right  a  great  wrong  which  had  been  done 
him,  "  the  car  is  acting  bad.  The  engineer  said 
only  this  morning  it  needed  a  going  over.  When  it 
took  that  awful  shoot,  I  lost  control  of  it.  Maybe 
I'm  to  be  discharged  for  losing  control  of  it,  but 
not  "  —  Freckles  sniffled  pathetically  —  "  but  not 
for  anything  like  what  he  says  I  done.  Why  Gov 
ernor,"  he  went  on,  ramming  his  knuckles  into  his 
eyes,  "  I  ain't  got  nothing  against  him !  What'd  I 
take  him  to  the  attic  for  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not  for  money,"  sneered  Mr.  Ludlow. 

The  Governor  turned  on  him  sharply.  "  When 
you  can  bring  any  proof  of  that,  I'll  be  ready  to  hear 
it.  Until  you  can,  you'd  better  leave  it  out  of  the 
question." 

"  Strange  it  should  have  happened  this  very  aft 
ernoon,"  put  in  the  eminent  lobbyist. 

The  Governor  looked  at  him  with  open  counte 
nance.  "  You  were  especially  interested  in  some 
thing  this  afternoon?  I  thought  you  told  me  you 
had  no  vital  interest  here  this  session." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  said.  Mr.  Ludlow  said 
nothing. 

"  Now,  William,"  pursued  the  Governor,  fearful 
in  his  heart  that  this  would  be  Freckles'  undoing, 
"  why  did  you  close  the  door  of  the  shaft  before  you 
started  down?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,"  began  Freckles,  still  tremu 
lously,  "  I'm  so  used  to  closin'  doors.  Closin'  doors 


FRECKLES  M'GRATH  69 

has  become  a  kind  of  second  nature  with  me.  I've 
been  told  about  it  so  many  times.  And  up  there, 
though  I  thought  I  was  losin'  my  life,  still  I  didn't 
neglect  my  duty." 

The  Governor  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth  and 
coughed. 

"  And  why,"  he  went  on,  more  secure  now,  for  a 
boy  who  could  get  out  of  that  could  get  out  of  any 
thing,  "  why  was  it  you  didn't  make  some  immediate 
effort  to  get  Mr  Ludlow  down?  Why  didn't  you 
notify  someone,  or  do  something  about  it?  " 

"  Why,  I  supposed,  of  course,  he  walked  down  by 
the  stairs,"  cried  Freckles.  "  I  never  dreamed  he'd 
want  to  trust  the  elevator  after  the  way  she  had 
acted." 

"  The  door  was  locked,"  snarled  the  eminent  lobby 
ist. 

"  Well,  now,  you  see,  I  didn't  know  that,"  ex 
plained  Freckles  expansively.  "  Late  in  the  after 
noon  I  took  a  run  up  just  to  test  the  car  —  and  there 
you  were !  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my  life.  I 
supposed,  of  course,  sir,  that  you'd  spent  the  after 
noon  in  the  Senate,  along  with  everybody  else." 

Once  more  the  Governor  put  his  hand  to  his 
mouth. 

"  Your  case  will  come  before  the  executive  council 
at  its  next  meeting,  William.  And  if  anything  like 
this  should  happen  again,  you  will  be  discharged  on 
the  spot."  Freckles  bowed.  "  You  may  go  now." 


70  LIFTED  MASKS 

When  he  was  almost  at  the  door  the  Governor 
called  to  him. 

"  Don't  you  think,  William,"  he  said  —  the  Gov 
ernor  felt  that  he  and  Freckles  could  afford  to  be 
generous  —  "  that  you  should  apologise  to  the  gen 
tleman  for  the  really  grave  inconvenience  to  which 
you  have  been  the  means  of  subjecting  him?  " 

Freckles'  little  grey  eyes  grew  steely.  He  looked 
at  Henry  Ludlow,  and  there  was  an  ominous  silence. 
Then  light  broke  over  his  face.  "  On  behalf  of  the 
elevator,"  he  said,  "  I  apologise." 

And  a  third  time  the  Governor's  hand  was  raised 
to  his  mouth. 

The  next  week  Freckles  was  wearing  a  signet 
ring;  long  and  audibly  had  he  sighed  for  a  ring  of 
such  kind  and  proportions.  He  was  at  some  pains 
in  explaining  to  everyone  to  whom  he  showed  it  that 
it  had  been  sent  him  b^  "  a  friend  up  home." 


V 

FROM  A  TO  Z 

THUS  had  another  ideal  tumbled  to  the  rubbish 
heap !     She  seemed  to  be  breathing  the  dust 
which  the  newly  fallen  had  stirred  up  among 
its  longer  dead  fellows.     Certainly  she  was  breathing 
the  dust  from  somewhere. 

During  her  senior  year  at  the  university,  when 
people  would  ask :  "  And  what  are  you  going  to  do 
when  you  leave  school,  Miss  Willard?  "  she  would 
respond  with  anything  that  came  to  hand,  secretly 
hugging  to  her  mind  that  idea  of  getting  a  posi 
tion  in  a  publishing  house.  Her  conception  of  her 
publishing  house  was  finished  about  the  same  time  as 
her  class-day  gown.  She  was  to  have  a  roll-top 
desk  —  probably  of  mahogany  —  and  a  big  chair 
which  whirled  round  like  that  in  the  office  of  the 
under-graduate  dean.  She  was  to  have  a  little  of 
fice  all  by  herself,  opening  on  a  bigger  office  —  the 
little  one  marked  "  Private."  There  were  to  be 
beautiful  rugs  —  the  general  effect  not  unlike  the 
library  at  the  University  Club  —  books  and  pictures 
and  cultivated  gentlemen  who  spoke  often  of  Greek 
tragedies  and  the  Renaissance.  She  was  a  little 
uncertain  as  to  her  duties,  but  had  a  general  idea 

71 


72  LIFTED  MASKS 

about  getting  down  between  nine  and  ten,  reading 
the  morning  paper,  cutting  the  latest  magazine,  and 
then  "  writing  something." 

Commencement  was  now  four  months  past,  and 
one  of  her  professors  had  indeed  secured  for  her  a 
position  in  a  Chicago  "  publishing  house."  This 
was  her  first  morning  and  she  was  standing  at  the 
window  looking  down  into  Dearborn  Street  while 
the  man  who  was  to  have  her  in  charge  was  fixing  a 
place  for  her  to  sit. 

That  the  publishing  house  should  be  on  Dearborn 
Street  had  been  her  first  blow,  for  she  had  long  lo 
cated  her  publishing  house  on  that  beautiful  stretch 
of  Michigan  Avenue  which  overlooked  the  lake.  But 
the  real  insult  was  that  this  publishing  house,  in 
stead  of  having  a  building,  or  at  least  a  floor,  all  to 
itself,  simply  had  a  place  penned  off  in  a  bleak,  dirty 
building  such  as  one  who  had  done  work  in  sociologi 
cal  research  instinctively  associated  with  a  box  fac 
tory.  And  the  thing  which  fairly  trailed  her  visions 
in  the  dust  was  that  the  partition  penning  them  off 
did  not  extend  to  the  ceiling,  and  the  adjoining  room 
being  occupied  by  a  patent  medicine  company,  she 
was  face  to  face  with  glaring  endorsements  of  Dr. 
Bunting's  Famous  Kidney  and  Bladder  Cure. 
Taken  all  in  all  there  seemed  little  chance  for  Greek 
tragedies  or  the  Renaissance. 

The  man  who  was  "  running  things  " —  she  buried 
her  phraseology  with  her  dreams  —  wore  a  skull 


FROM  A  TO  Z  73 

cap,  and  his  moustache  dragged  down  below  his 
chin.  Just  at  present  he  was  engaged  in  noisily 
pulling  a  most  unliterary  pine  table  from  a  dark  cor 
ner  to  a  place  near  the  window.  That  accomplished, 
an  ostentatious  hunt  ensued,  resulting  in  the  tri 
umphant  flourish  of  a  feather  duster.  Several 
knocks  at  the  table,  and  the  dust  of  many  months 
—  perhaps  likewise  of  many  dreams  —  ascended  to 
a  resting  place  on  the  endorsement  of  Dr.  Bunting's 
Kidney  and  Bladder  Cure.  He  next  produced  a 
short,  straight-backed  chair  which  she  recognised 
as  brother  to  the  one  which  used  to  stand  behind 
their  kitchen  stove.  He  gave  it  a  shake,  thus  deli 
cately  indicating  that  she  was  receiving  special  fa 
vours  in  this  matter  of  an  able-bodied  chair,  and  then 
announced  with  brisk  satisfaction:  "So!  Now  we 
are  ready  to  begin."  She  murmured  a  "  Thank 
you,"  seated  herself  and  her  buried  hopes  in  this  chair 
which  did  not  whirl  round,  and  leaned  her  arms  upon 
a  table  which  did  not  even  dream  in  mahogany. 

In  the  other  publishing  house,  one  pushed  but 
tons  and  uniformed  menials  appeared  —  noiselessly, 
quickly  and  deferentially.  At  this  moment  a  boy 
with  sandy  hair  brushed  straight  back  in  a  manner 
either  statesmanlike  or  clownlike  —  things  were  too 
involved  to  know  which  —  shuffled  in  with  an  armful 
of  yellow  paper  which  he  flopped  down  on  the  pine 
table.  After  a  minute  he  returned  with  a  warbled 
"  Take  Me  Back  to  New  York  Town  "  and  a  paste- 


74  LIFTED  MASKS 

pot.  And  upon  his  third  appearance  he  was  prac 
tising  gymnastics  with  a  huge  pair  of  shears,  which 
he  finally  presented,  grinningly. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  broken  only  by  the  sono 
rous  voice  of  Dr.  Bunting  upbraiding  someone  for 
not  having  billed  out  that  stuff  to  Apple  Grove,  and 
then  the  sandy-haired  boy  appeared  bearing  a  large 
dictionary,  followed  by  the  man  in  the  skull  cap  be 
hind  a  dictionary  of  equal  unwieldiness.  These  were 
set  down  on  either  side  of  the  yellow  paper,  and  he 
who  was  filling  the  position  of  cultivated  gentleman 
pulled  up  a  chair,  briskly. 

"  Has  Professor  Lee  explained  to  you  the  nature 
of  our  work?  "  he  wanted  to  know. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  half  grimly,  a  little  humour 
ously,  and  not  far  from  tearfully,  "  he  didn't  — 
explain." 

"  Then  it  is  my  pleasure  to  inform  you,"  he  be 
gan,  blinking  at  her  importantly,  "  that  we  are  en 
gaged  here  in  the  making  of  a  dictionary." 

"  A  die  — ? "  but  she  swallowed  the  gasp  in 
the  laugh  coming  up  to  meet  it,  and  of  their  union 
was  born  a  saving  cough. 

"  Quite  an  overpowering  thought,  is  it  not  ? " 
he  agreed  pleasantly.  "  Now  you  see  you  have  be 
fore  you  the  two  dictionaries  you  will  use  most,  and 
over  in  that  case  you  will  find  other  references.  The 
main  thing  " —  his  voice  sank  to  an  impressive  whis 
per  —  "  is  not  to  infringe  the  copyright.  The  pub- 


FROM  A  TO  Z  75 

lisher  was  in  yesterday  and  made  a  little  talk  to 
the  force,  and  he  said  that  any  one  who  handed  in 
a  piece  of  copy  infringing  the  copyright  simply  em 
ployed  that  means  of  writing  his  own  resignation. 
Neat  way  of  putting  it,  was  it  not?  " 

"Yes,  wasn't  it  —  neat?"  she  agreed,  wildly. 

She  was  conscious  of  a  man's  having  stepped  in 
behind  her  and  taken  a  seat  at  the  table  next  hers. 
She  heard  him  opening  his  dictionaries  and  getting 
out  his  paper.  Then  the  man  in  the  skull  cap  had 
risen  and  was  saying  genially :  "  Well,  here  is  a  piece 
of  old  Webster,  your  first  *  take  '  —  no  copyright 
on  this,  you  see,  but  you  must  modernise  and  expand. 
Don't  miss  any  of  the  good  words  in  either  of  these 
dictionaries.  Here  you  have  dictionaries,  copy- 
paper,  paste,  and  Professor  Lee  assures  me  you  have 
brains  —  all  the  necessary  ingredients  for  suc 
cessful  lexicography.  We  are  to  have  some 
rules  printed  to-morrow,  and  in  the  mean 
time  I  trust  I've  made  myself  clear.  The  main 
thing  " —  he  bent  down  and  spoke  it  solemnly  — 
"  is  not  to  infringe  the  copyright."  With  a  cheer 
ful  nod  he  was  gone,  and  she  heard  him  saying  to 
the  man  at  the  next  table:  "Mr.  Clifford,  I  shall 
have  to  ask  you  to  be  more  careful  about  getting  in 
promptly  at  eight." 

She  removed  the  cover  from  her  paste-pot  and 
dabbled  a  little  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Then  she  tried 
the  unwieldy  shears  on  another  piece  of  paper.  She 


76  LIFTED  MASKS 

then  opened  one  of  her  dictionaries  and  read  studi 
ously  for  fifteen  minutes.  That  accomplished,  she 
opened  the  other  dictionary  and  pursued  it  for 
twelve  minutes.  Then  she  took  the  column  of  "  old 
Webster,"  which  had  been  handed  her  pasted  on  a 
piece  of  yellow  paper,  and  set  about  attempting 
to  commit  it  to  memory.  She  looked  up  to  be  met 
with  the  statement  that  Mrs.  Marjory  Van  Luce  De 
Vane,  after  spending  years  under  the  so-called  best 
surgeons  of  the  country,  had  been  cured  in  six  weeks 
by  Dr.  Bunting's  Famous  Kidney  and  Bladder  Cure. 
She  pushed  the  dictionaries  petulantly  from  her,  and 
leaning  her  very  red  cheek  upon  her  hand,  her  hazel 
eyes  blurred  with  tears  of  perplexity  and  resentment, 
her  mouth  drawn  in  pathetic  little  lines  of  uncer 
tainty,  looked  over  at  the  sprawling  warehouse  on 
the  opposite  side  of  Dearborn  Street.  She  was  just 
considering  the  direct  manner  of  writing  one's  resig 
nation —  not  knowing  how  to  infringe  the  copy 
right  —  when  a  voice  said :  "  I  beg  pardon,  but  I 
wonder  if  I  can  help  you  any  ?  "  I 

She  had  never  heard  a  voice  like  that  before.  Or, 
had  she  heard  it?  —  and  where?  She  looked  at  him, 
a  long,  startled  gaze.  Something  made  her  think 
of  the  voice  the  prince  used  to  have  in  long-ago 
dreams.  She  looked  into  a  face  that  was  dark  and 
thin  and  —  different.  Two  very  dark  eyes  werfe 
looking  at  her  kindly,  and  a  mouth  which  was  a  baf 
fling  combination  of  things  to  be  loved  and  things 


FROM  A  TO  Z  77 

to  be  deplored  was  twitching  a  little,  as  though  it 
would  like  to  join  the  eyes  in  a  smile,  if  it  dared. 

Because  he  saw  both  how  funny  and  how  hard  it 
was,  she  liked  him.  It  would  have  been  quite  dif 
ferent  had  he  seen  either  one  without  the  other. 

"  You  can  tell  me  how  not  to  infringe  the  copy 
right,"  she  laughed.  "  I'm  not  sure  that  I  know 
what  a  copyright  is." 

He  laughed  —  a  laugh  which  belonged  with  his 
voice.  "  Mr.  Littletree  isn't  as  lucid  as  he  thinks 
he  is.  I've  been  here  a  week  or  so,  and  picked  up  a 
few  things  you  might  like  to  know." 

He  pulled  his  chair  closer  to  her  table  then  and 
gave  her  a  lesson  in  the  making  of  copy.  Edna  Wil- 
lard  was  never  one-half  so  attractive  as  when  ab 
sorbed  in  a  thing  which  someone  was  showing  her 
how  to  do.  Her  hazel  eyes  would  widen  and  glisten 
with  the  joy  of  comprehending;  her  cheeks  would 
flush  a  deeper  pink  with  the  coming  of  new  light, 
her  mouth  would  part  in  a  child-like  way  it  had  for 
gotten  to  outgrow,  her  head  would  nod  gleefully  in 
token  that  she  understood,  and  she  had  a  way  of 
pulling  at  her  wavy  hair  and  making  it  more  wavy 
than  it  had  been  before.  The  man  at  the  next  table 
was  a  long  time  in  explaining  the  making  of  a  dic 
tionary.  He  spoke  in  low  tones,  often  looking  at  the 
figure  of  the  man  in  the  skull  cap,  who  was  sitting 
with  his  back  to  them,  looking  over  copy.  Once 
she  cried,  excitedly :  "  Oh  —  I  see  \  "  and  he  warned, 


78  LIFTED  MASKS 

"  S  — •  h !  "  explaining,  "  Let  him  think  you  got  it 
all  from  him.  It  will  give  you  a  better  stand-in." 
She  nodded,  appreciatively,  and  felt  very  well 
acquainted  with  this  kind  man  whose  voice  made  her 
think  of  something  —  called  to  something  —  she  did 
not  just  know  what. 

After  that  she  became  so  absorbed  in  lexicography 
that  when  the  men  began  putting  away  their  things 
it  was  hard  to  realise  that  the  morning  had  gone. 
It  was  a  new  and  difficult  game,  the  evasion  of  the 
copyright  furnishing  the  stimulus  of  a  hazard. 

The  man  at  the  next  table  had  been  watching 
her  with  an  amused  admiration.  Her  child-like  ab 
sorption,  the  way  every  emotion  from  perplexity  to 
satisfaction  expressed  itself  in  the  poise  of  her  head 
and  the  pucker  of  her  face,  took  him  back  over  years 
emotionally  barren  to  the  time  when  he  too  had  those 
easily  stirred  enthusiasms  of  youth.  For  the  man 
at  the  next  table  was  far  from  young  now.  His 
mouth  had  never  quite  parted  with  boyishness,  but 
there  was  more  white  than  black  in  his  hair,  and  the 
lines  about  his  mouth  told  that  time,  as  well  as  forces 
more  aging  than  time,  had  laid  heavy  hand  upon  him. 
But  when  he  looked  at  the  girl  and  told  her  with  a 
smile  that  it  was  time  to  stop  work,  it  was  a  smile 
and  a  voice  to  defy  the  most  tell-tale  face  in  all  the 
world. 

During  her  luncheon,  as  she  watched  the  strange 
people  coming  and  going,  she  did  much  wondering. 


FROM  A  TO  Z  79 

She  wondered  why  it  was  that  so  many  of  the  men  at 
the  dictionary  place  were  very  old  men;  she  won 
dered  if  it  would  be  a  good  dictionary  —  one  that 
would  be  used  in  the  schools ;  she  wondered  if  Dr. 
Bunting  had  made  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  most 
of  all  she  wondered  about  the  man  at  the  next  table 
whose  voice  was  like  —  like  a  dream  which  she  did 
not  know  that  she  had  dreamed. 

When  she  had  returned  to  the  straggling  old 
building,  had  stumbled  down  the  narrow,  dark  hall 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  big  bleak  room,  she  saw 
that  the  man  at  the  next  table  was  the  only  one  who 
had  returned  from  luncheon.  Something  in  his  pro 
file  made  her  stand  there  very  still.  He  had  not 
heard  her  come  in,  and  he  was  looking  straight  ahead, 
eyes  half  closed,  mouth  set  —  no  unsurrendered  boy 
ishness  there  now.  Wholly  unconsciously  she  took 
an  impulsive  step  forward.  But  she  stopped,  for 
she  saw,  and  felt  without  really  understanding,  that 
it  was  not  just  the  moment's  pain,  but  the  revealed 
pain  of  years.  Just  then  he  began  to  cough,  and 
it  seemed  the  cough,  too,  was  more  than  of  the  mo 
ment.  And  then  he  turned  and  saw  her,  and  smiled, 
and  the  smile  changed  all. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on  the  man  stopped  working 
and  turning  a  little  in  his  chair  sat  there  covertly 
watching  the  girl.  She  was  just  typically  girl.  It 
was  written  that  she  had  spent  her  days  in  the 
happy  ways  of  healthful  girlhood.  He  supposed 


80  LIFTED  MASKS 

that  a  great  many  young  fellows  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her  —  nice,  clean  young  fellows,  the  kind  she 
would  naturally  meet.  And  then  his  eyes  closed  for 
a  minute  and  he  put  up  his  hand  and  brushed  back 
his  hair ;  there  was  weariness,  weariness  weary  of  it 
self,  in  the  gesture.  He  looked  about  the  room 
and  scanned  the  faces  of  the  men,  most  of  them  older 
than  he,  many  of  them  men  whose  histories  were  well 
known  to  him.  They  were  the  usual  hangers  on 
about  newspaper  offices ;  men  who,  for  one  reason  or 
other  —  age,  dissipation,  antiquated  methods  — 
had  been  pitched  over,  men  for  whom  such  work  as 
this  came  as  a  godsend.  They  were  the  men  of  yes 
terday  • —  men  whom  the  world  had  rushed  past. 
She  was  the  only  one  there,  this  girl  who  would  prob 
ably  sit  here  beside  him  for  many  months,  with 
whom  the  future  had  anything  to  do.  Youth !  — 
Goodness  !  —  Joy !  —  Hope !  —  strange  things  to 
bring  to  a  place  like  this.  And  as  if  their  alienism 
disturbed  him,  he  moved  restlessly,  almost  resent 
fully,  bit  his  lips  nervously,  moistened  them,  and  be 
gan  putting  away  his  things. 

As  the  girl  was  starting  home  along  Dearborn 
Street  a  few  minutes  later,  she  chanced  to  look  in  a 
window.  She  saw  that  it  was  a  saloon,  but  before 
she  could  turn  away  she  saw  a  man  with  a  white  face 
—  white  with  the  peculiar  whiteness  of  a  dark  face, 
standing  before  the  bar  drinking  from  a  small  glass. 
She  stood  still,  arrested  by  a  look  such  as  she  had 


FROM  A  TO  Z  81 

never  seen  before:  a  panting  human  soul  sobbingly 
fluttering  down  into  something  from  which  it  had 
spent  all  its  force  in  trying  to  rise.  When  she  re 
called  herself  and  passed  on,  a  mist  which  she  could 
neither  account  for  nor  banish  was  dimming  the 
clear  hazel  of  her  eyes. 

The  next  day  was  a  hard  one  at  the  dictionary 
place.  She  told  herself  it  was  because  the  novelty 
of  it  was  wearing  away,  because  her  fingers  ached, 
because  it  tired  her  back  to  sit  in  that  horrid 
chair.  She  did  not  admit  of  any  connection  be 
tween  her  flagging  interest  and  the  fact  that  the 
place  at  the  next  table  was  vacant. 

The  following  day  he  was  still  absent.  She 
assumed  that  it  was  nervousness  occasioned  by  her 
queer  surroundings  made  her  look  around  whenever 
she  heard  a  step  behind  her.  Where  was  he? 
Where  had  that  look  carried  him?  If  he  were  in 
trouble,  was  there  no  one  to  help  him? 

The  third  day  she  did  an  unpremeditated  thing. 
The  man  in  the  skull  cap  had  been  showing  her  some 
thing  about  the  copy.  As  he  was  leaving,  she  asked : 
"  Is  the  man  who  sits  at  the  next  table  coming 
back?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  replied  grimly,  «  he'll  be  back." 

"  Because,"  she  went  on,  "  if  he  wasn't,  I  thought 
I  would  take  his  shears.  These  hurt  my  fingers." 

He  made  the  exchange  for  her  —  and  after  that 
things  went  better. 


82  LIFTED  MASKS 

He  did  return  late  the  next  morning.  After  he 
had  taken  his  place  he  looked  over  at  her  and  smiled. 
He  looked  sick  and  shaken  —  as  if  something  that 
knew  no  mercy  had  taken  hold  of  him  and  wrung 
body  and  soul. 

"  You  have  been  ill  ?  "  she  asked,  with  timid  solici 
tude. 

"  Oh  no,"  he  replied,  rather  shortly. 

He  was  quiet  all  that  day,  but  the  next  day  they 
talked  about  the  work,  laughed  together  over  funny 
definitions  they  found.  She  felt  that  he  could  tell 
many  interesting  things  about  himself,  if  he  cared 
to. 

As  the  days  went  on  he  did  tell  some  of  those 
things  —  out  of  the  way  places  where  he  had  worked, 
queer  people  whom  he  had  known.  It  seemed  that 
words  came  to  him  as  gifts,  came  freely,  happily, 
pleased,  perhaps,  to  be  borne  by  so  sympathetic  a 
voice.  And  there  was  another  thing  about  him. 
He  seemed  always  to  know  just  what  she  was  trying 
to  say ;  he  never  missed  the  unexpressed.  That  made 
it  easy  to  say  things  to  him;  there  seemed  a  certain 
at-homeness  between  his  thought  and  hers.  She  ac 
counted  for  her  interest  in  him  by  telling  herself  she 
had  never  known  any  one  like  that  before.  Now 
Harold,  the  boy  whom  she  knew  best  out  at  the  uni 
versity,  why  one  had  to  say  things  to  Harold  to 
make  him  understand !  And  Harold  never  left  one 
wondering  —  wondering  what  he  had  meant  by  that 


FROM  A  TO  Z  83 

smile,  what  he  had  been  going  to  say  when  he  started 
to  say  something  and  stopped,  wondering  what  it 
was  about  his  face  that  one  could  not  understand. 
Harold  never  could  claim  as  his  the  hour  after  he 
had  left  her,  and  was  one  ever  close  to  anyone  with 
whom  one  did  not  spend  some  of  the  hours  of 
absence?  She  began  to  see  that  hours  spent 
together  when  apart  were  the  most  intimate  hours 
of  all. 

And  as  Harold  did  not  make  one  wonder,  so  he 
did  not  make  one  worry.  Never  in  all  her  life  had 
there  been  a  lump  in  her  throat  when  she  thought 
of  Harold.  There  was  often  a  lump  in  her  throat 
when  the  man  at  the  next  table  was  coughing. 

One  day,  she  had  been  there  about  two  months, 
she  said  something  to  him  about  it.  It  was  hard; 
it  seemed  forcing  one's  way  into  a  room  that  had 
never  been  opened  to  one  —  there  were  several  doors 
he  kept  closed. 

"  Mr.  Clifford,"  she  turned  to  him  impetuously  as 
they  were  putting  away  their  things  that  night, 
"  will  you  mind  if  I  say  something  to  you?  " 

He  was  covering  his  paste-pot.  He  looked  up 
at  her  strangely.  The  closed  door  seemed  to  open  a 
little  way.  "  I  can't  conceive  of  *  minding  '  any 
thing  you  might  say  to  me,  Miss  Noah," — he  had 
called  her  Miss  Noah  ever  since  she,  by  mistake,  had 
one  day  called  him  Mr.  Webster. 

"You  see,"  she  hurried  on,  very  timid,  now  that 


84  LIFTED  MASKS 

the  door  had  opened  a  little,  "  you  have  been  so  good 
to  me.  Because  you  have  been  so  good  to  me  it 
seems  that  I  have  some  right  to  —  to  —  " 

His  head  was  resting  upon  his  hand,  and  he  leaned 
a  little  closer  as  though  listening  for  something  he 
wanted  to  hear. 

"  I  had  a  cousin  who  had  a  cough  like  yours," 
—  brave  now  that  she  could  not  go  back  —  "  and  he 
went  down  to  New  Mexico  and  stayed  for  a  year,  and 
when  he  came  back  —  when  he  came  back  he  was  as 
well  as  any  of  us.  It  seems  so  foolish  not  to  " — 
her  voice  broke,  now  that  it  had  so  valiantly  carried 
it  — "not  to  —  " 

He  looked  at  her,  and  that  was  all.  But  she  was 
never  wholly  the  same  again  after  that  look.  It  en 
veloped  her  being  in  a  something  which  left  her 
richer  —  different.  It  was  a  look  to  light  the  dark 
place  between  two  human  souls.  It  seemed  for  the 
moment  that  words  would  follow  it,  but  as  if  feeling 
their  helplessness  —  perhaps  needlessness  —  they 
sank  back  unuttered,  and  at  the  last  he  got  up,  ab 
ruptly,  and  walked  away. 

One  night,  while  waiting  for  the  elevator,  she  heard 
two  of  the  men  talking  about  him.  When  she  went 
out  on  the  street  it  was  with  head  high,  cheeks  hot. 
For  nothing  is  so  hard  to  hear  as  that  which  one 
has  half  known,  and  evaded.  One  never  denies  so 
hotly  as  in  denying  to  one's  self  what  one  fears  is 
true,  and  one  never  resents  so  bitterly  as  in  resent- 


FROM  A  TO  Z  85 

ing  that  which  one  cannot  say  one  has  the  right  to 
resent. 

That  night  she  lay  in  her  bedt  with  wide  open  eyes, 
going  over  and  over  the  things  they  had  said. 
"  Cure?  " —  one  of  them  had  scoffed,  after  telling  how 
brilliant  he  had  been  before  he  "  went  to  pieces  "  — 
"  why  all  the  cures  on  earth  couldn't  help  him !  He 
can  go  just  so  far,  and  then  he  can  no  more  stop 
himself  —  oh,  about  as  much  as  an  ant  could  stop 
a  prairie  fire !  " 

She  finally  turned  over  on  her  pillow  and  sobbed; 
and  she  wondered  why  —  wondered,  yet  knew. 

But  it  resulted  in  the  flowering  of  her  tenderness 
for  him.  Interest  mounted  to  defiance.  It  ended 
in  blind,  passionate  desire  to  "  make  it  up  "  to  him. 
And  again  he  was  so  different  from  Harold;  Harold 
did  not  impress  himself  upon  one  by  upsetting  all 
one's  preconceived  ideas. 

She  felt  now  that  she  understood  better  —  un 
derstood  the  closed  doors.  He  was  —  she  could 
think  of  no  better  word  than  sensitive. 

And  that  is  why,  several  mornings  later,  she  very 
courageously  —  for  it  did  take  courage  —  threw 
this  little  note  over  on  his  desk  —  they  had  formed 
a  habit  of  writing  notes  to  each  other,  sometimes 
about  the  words,  sometimes  about  other  things. 

"  IN-VI-TA-TION,  n.  That  which  Miss  Noah  ex 
tends  to  Mr.  Webster  for  Friday  evening,  Decem 
ber  second,  at  the  house  where  she  lives  —  hasn't 


86  LIFTED  MASKS 

she  already  told  him  where  that  is?  It  is  the  wish 
of  Miss  Noah  to  present  Mr.  Webster  to  various 
other  Miss  Noahs,  all  of  whom  are  desirous  of  mak 
ing  his  acquaintance." 

She  was  absurdly  nervous  at  luncheon  that  day, 
and  kept  telling  herself  with  severity  not  to  act  like 
a  high-school  girl.  He  was  late  in  returning  that 
noon,  and  though  there  seemed  a  new  something  in 
his  voice  when  he  asked  if  he  hadn't  better  sharpen 
her  pencils,  he  said  nothing  about  her  new  definition 
of  invitation.  It  was  almost  five  o'clock  when  he 
threw  this  over  on  her  desk: 

"  AP-PRE-CI-A-TION,  n.  That  sentiment  inspired  in 
Mr.  Webster  by  the  kind  invitation  of  Miss  Noah 
for  Friday  evening. 

"  RE-GRET,  n.  That  which  Mr.  Webster  exper 
iences  because,  for  reasons  into  which  he  cannot  go 
in  detail,  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  accept  Miss 
Noah's  invitation. 

"  RE-SENT-MENT,  n.  That  which  is  inspired  in  Mr. 
Webster  by  the  insinuation  that  there  are  other 
Miss  Noahs  in  the  world." 

Then  below  he  had  written :  "  Three  hours  later. 
Miss  Noah,  the  world  is  queer.  Some  day  you  may 
find  out  —  though  I  hope  you  never  will  —  that  it 
is  frequently  the  things  we  most  want  to  do  that  we 
must  leave  undone.  Miss  Noah,  won't  you  go  on 
bringing  me  as  much  of  yourself  as  you  can  to  Dear 
born  Street,  and  try  not  to  think  much  about  my 


FROM  A  TO  Z  87 

not  being  able  to  know  the  Miss  Noah  of  Hyde  Park? 
And  little  Miss  Noah  —  I  thank  you.  There  aren't 
words  enough  in  this  old  book  of  ours  to  tell  you 
how  much  —  or  why." 

That  night  he  hurried  away  with  never  a  joke 
about  how  many  words  she  had  written  that  day. 
She  did  not  look  up  as  he  stood  there  putting  on 
his  coat. 

It  was  spring  now,  and  the  dictionary  staff  had 
begun  on  W. 

They  had  written  of  Joy,  of  Hope  and  Life  and 
Love,  and  many  other  things.  Life  seemed  press 
ing  just  behind  some  of  those  definitions,  pressing 
the  harder,  perhaps,  because  it  could  not  break 
through  the  surface. 

For  it  did  not  break  through;  it  flooded  just  be 
neath. 

How  did  she  know  that  he  cared  for  her?  She 
could  not  possibly  have  told.  Perhaps  the  nearest 
to  actual  proof  she  could  bring  was  that  he  always 
saw  that  her  overshoes  were  put  in  a  warm  place. 
And  when  one  came  down  to  facts,  the  putting  of  a 
girl's  rubbers  near  the  radiator  did  not  necessarily 
mean  love. 

Perhaps  then  it  was  because  there  was  no  proof 
of  it  that  she  was  most  sure.  For  some  of  the  most 
sure  things  in  the  world  are  things  which  cannot  be 
proved. 

It  was  only  that  they  worked  together  and  were 


88  LIFTED  MASKS 

friends ;  that  they  laughed  together  over  funny  defi 
nitions  they  found,  that  he  was  kind  to  her,  and  that 
they  seemed  remarkably  close  together. 

That  is  as  far  as  facts  can  take  it. 

And  just  there  —  it  begins. 

For  the  force  which  rushes  beneath  the  facts  of 
life,  caring  nothing  for  conditions,  not  asking  what 
one  desires  or  what  one  thinks  best,  caring  as  little 
about  a  past  as  about  a  future  —  save  its  own  fu 
ture  — the  force  which  can  laugh  at  man's  institu 
tions  and  batter  over  in  one  sweep  what  he  likes  to 
call  his  wisdom,  was  sweeping  them  on.  And  be 
cause  it  could  get  no  other  recognition  it  forced  its 
way  into  the  moments  when  he  asked  her  for  an  era 
ser,  when  she  wanted  to  know  how  to  spell  a  word. 
He  could  not  so  much  as  ask  her  if  she  needed  more 
copy-paper  without  seeming  to  be  lavishing  upon 
her  all  the  love  of  all  the  ages. 

And  so  the  winter  had  worn  on,  and  there  was 
really  nothing  whatever  to  tell  about  it. 

She  was  quiet  this  morning,  and  kept  her  head 
bent  low  over  her  work.  For  she  had  estimated  the 
number  of  pages  there  were  between  W  and  Z.  Soon 
they  would  be  at  Z;— and  then?  Then?  Shyly 
she  turned  and  looked  at  him;  he  too  was  bent  over 
his  work.  When  she  came  in  she  had  said  something 
about  its  being  spring,  and  that  there  must  be  wild 
flowers  in  the  woods.  Since  then  he  had  not  looked 
up. 


FROM  A  TO  Z  89 

Suddenly  it  came  to  her  —  tenderly,  hotly,  fear 
fully  yet  bravely,  that  it  was  she  who  must  meet  Z. 
She  looked  at  him  again,  covertly.  And  she  felt 
that  she  understood.  It  was  the  lines  in  his  face 
made  it  clearest.  Years,  and  things  blacker,  less 
easily  surmounted  than  years  —  oh  yes,  that  too  she 
faced  fearlessly  —  were  piled  in  between.  She  knew 
now  that  it  was  she  —  not  he  —  who  could  push 
them  aside. 

It  was  all  very  unmaidenly,  of  course;  but  maid 
enly  is  a  word  love  and  life  and  desire  may  crowd 
from  the  page. 

Perhaps  she  would  not  have  thrown  it  after  all  — • 
the  little  note  she  had  written  —  had  it  not  been 
that  when  she  went  over  for  more  copy-paper  she 
stood  for  a  minute  looking  out  the  window.  Even 
on  Dearborn  Street  the  seductiveness  of  spring  was 
in  the  air.  Spring,  and  all  that  spring  meant,  filled 
her. 

Because,  way  beyond  the  voice  of  Dr.  Bunting 
she  heard  the  songs  of  far-away  birds,  and  because 
beneath  the  rumble  of  a  printing  press  she  could 
get  the  babble  of  a  brook,  because  Z  was  near  and 
life  was  strong,  the  woman  vanquished  the  girl,  and 
she  threw  this  over  to  his  desk: 

"  CHAFING-DISH,  71.  That  out  of  which  Miss  Noah 
asks  Mr.  Webster  to  eat  his  Sunday  night  lunch  to 
morrow.  All  the  other  Miss  Noahs  are  going  to 
be  away,  and  if  Mr.  Webster  does  not  come,  Miss 


90  LIFTED  MASKS 

Noah  will  be  all  alone.  Miss  Noah  does  not  like  to 
be  lonely." 

She  ate  no  lunch  that  day ;  she  only  drank  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  walked  around. 

He  did  not  come  back  that  afternoon.  It  passed 
from  one  to  two,  from  two  to  three,  and  then  very 
slowly  from  three  to  four,  and  still  he  had  not  come. 

He  too  was  walking  about.  He  had  walked  down 
to  the  lake  and  was  standing  there  looking  out 
across  it. 

Why  not  ?  —  he  was  saying  to  himself  —  fiercely, 
doggedly.  Over  and  over  again  —  Well,  why  not? 

A  hundred  nights,  alone  in  his  room,  he  had  gone 
over  it.  Had  not  life  used  him  hard  enough  to  give 
him  a  little  now?  —  longing  had  pleaded.  And 
now  there  was  a  new  voice  — more  prevailing  voice 
—  the  voice  of  her  happiness.  His  face  softened 
to  an  almost  maternal  tenderness  as  he  listened  to 
that  voice. 

Too  worn  to  fight  any  longer,  he  gave  himself  up 
to  it,  and  sat  there  dreaming.  They  were  dreams 
of  joy  rushing  in  after  lonely  years,  dreams  of  step 
ping  into  the  sunlight  after  long  days  in  fog  and 
cold,  dreams  of  a  woman  before  a  fireplace  —  her 
arms  about  him,  her  cheer  and  her  tenderness,  her 
comradeship  and  her  passion  —  all  his  to  take !  Ah, 
dreams  which  even  thoughts  must  not  touch  • —  so 
wonderful  and  sacred  they  were. 

A  long  time  he  sat  there,  dreaming  dreams  and 


FROM  A  TO  Z  91 

seeing  visions.  The  force  that  rules  the  race  was 
telling  him  that  the  one  crime  was  the  denial  of  hap 
piness  —  his  happiness,  her  happiness ;  and  when 
at  last  his  fight  seemed  but  a  puerile  fight  against 
forces  worlds  mightier  than  he,  he  rose,  and  as  one 
who  sees  a  great  light,  started  back  toward  Dear 
born  Street. 

On  the  way  he  began  to  cough.  The  coughing 
was  violent,  and  he  stepped  into  a  doorway  to  gain 
breath.  And  after  he  had  gone  in  there  he  realised 
that  it  was  the  building  of  Chicago's  greatest  news 
paper. 

He  had  been  city  editor  of  that  paper  once. 
Facts,  the  things  he  knew  about  himself,  talked  to 
him  then.  There  was  no  answer. 

It  left  him  weak  and  dizzy  and  crazy  for  a  drink. 
He  walked  on  slowly,  unsteadily,  his  white  face  set. 
For  he  had  vowed  that  if  it  took  the  last  nerve  in 
his  body  there  should  be  no  more  of  that  until  after 
they  had  finished  with  Z.  He  knew  himself  too  well 
to  vow  more.  He  was  not  even  sure  of  that. 

He  did  not  turn  in  where  he  wanted  to  go ;  but 
resistance  took  the  last  bit  of  force  that  was  in  him. 
He  was  trembling  like  a  sick  man  when  he  stepped 
into  the  elevator. 

She  was  just  leaving.  She  was  in  the  little  cloak 
room  putting  on  her  things.  She  was  all  alone  in 
there. 

He  stepped  in.     He  pushed  the  door  shut,   and 


92  LIFTED  MASKS 

stood  there  leaning  against  it,  looking  at  her,  say 
ing  nothing. 

"  Oh  —  you  are  ill  ?  "  she  gasped,  and  laid  a 
frightened  hand  upon  him. 

The  touch  crazed  him.  All  resistance  gone,  he 
swept  her  into  his  arms ;  he  held  her  fiercely,  and 
between  sobs  kissed  her  again  and  again.  He  could 
not  let  her  go.  He  frightened  her.  He  hurt  her. 
And  he  did  not  care  —  he  did  not  know. 

Then  he  held  her  off  and  looked  at  her.  And  as 
he  looked  into  her  eyes,  passion  melted  to  tenderness. 
It  was  she  now  —  not  he ;  love  —  not  hunger. 
Holding  her  face  in  his  two  hands,  looking  at  her  as 
if  getting  something  to  take  away,  his  white  lips 
murmured  words  too  inarticulate  for  her  to  hear. 
And  then  again  he  put  his  arms  around  her  —  all 
differently.  Reverently,  sobbingly,  he  kissed  her 
hair.  And  then  he  was  gone. 

He  did  not  come  out  that  Sunday  afternoon,  but 
Harold  dropped  in  instead,  and  talked  of  some  ath 
letic  affairs  over  at  the  university.  She  wondered 
why  she  did  not  go  crazy  in  listening  to  him,  and  yet 
she  could  answer  intelligently.  It  was  queer  — 
what  one  could  do. 

They  had  come  at  last  to  Z.  There  would  be  no 
more  work  upon  the  dictionary  after  that  day. 
And  it  was  raining  —  raining  as  in  Chicago  alone 
it  knows  how  to  rain. 

They  wrote  no  notes  to  each  other  now.     It  had 


FROM  A  TO  Z  93 

been  different  since  that  day.  They  made  small  ef 
fort  to  cover  their  raw  souls  with  the  mantle  of 
commonplace  words. 

Both  of  them  had  tried  to  stay  away  that  last 
day.  But  both  were  in  their  usual  places. 

The  day  wore  on  eventlessly.  Those  men  with 
whom  she  had  worked,  the  men  of  yesterday,  who 
had  been  kind  to  her,  came  up  at  various  times  for 
little  farewell  chats.  The  man  in  the  skull  cap  told 
her  that  she  had  done  excellent  work.  She  was  sur 
prised  at  the  ease  with  which  she  could  make  decent 
reply,  thinking  again  that  it  was  queer  —  what  one 
could  do. 

He  was  moving.  She  saw  him  lay  some  sheets 
of  yellow  paper  on  the  desk  in  front.  He  had  fin 
ished  with  his  "  take."  There  would  not  be  another 
to  give  him.  He  would  go  now. 

He  came  back  to  his  desk.  She  could  hear  him 
putting  away  his  things.  And  then  for  a  long  time 
there  was  no  sound.  She  knew  that  he  was  just 
sitting  there  in  his  chair. 

Then  she  heard  him  get  up.  She  heard  him  push 
his  chair  up  to  the  table,  and  then  for  a  minute  he 
stood  there.  She  wanted  to  turn  toward  him;  she 
wanted  to  say  something  —  do  something.  But 
she  had  no  power. 

She  saw  him  lay  an  envelope  upon  her  desk.  She 
heard  him  walking  away.  She  knew,  numbly,  that 
his  footsteps  were  not  steady.  She  knew  that  he 


94  LIFTED  MASKS 

had  stopped ;  she  was  sure  that  he  was  looking  back. 
But  still  she  had  no  power. 

And  then  she  heard  him  go. 

Even  then  she  went  on  with  her  work ;  she  finished 
her  "  take  "  and  laid  down  her  pencil.  It  was  fin 
ished  now  —  and  he  had  gone.  Finished?  —  Gone? 
She  was  tearing  open  the  envelope  of  the  letter. 

This  was  what  she  read: 

"  Little  dictionary  sprite,  sunshine  vender,  and 
girl  to  be  loved,  if  I  were  a  free  man  I  would  say  to 
you  —  Come,  little  one,  and  let  us  learn  of  love. 
Let  us  learn  of  it,  not  as  one  learns  from  dictionaries, 
but  let  us  learn  from  the  morning  glow  and  the  even 
ing  shades.  But  Miss  Noah,  maker  of  dictionaries 
and  creeper  into  hearts,  the  bound  must  not  call  to 
the  free.  They  might  fittingly  have  used  my  name 
as  one  of  the  synonyms  under  that  word  Failure, 
but  I  trust  not  under  Coward. 

"And  now,  you  funny  little  Miss  Noah  from  the 
University  of  Chicago,  don't  I  know  that  your  heart 
is  blazing  forth  the  assurance  that  you  don't  care 
for  any  of  those  things — the  world,  people,  common 
sense — that  you  want  just  love?  They  made  a 
grand  failure  of  you  out  at  your  university;  they 
taught  you  philosophy  and  they  taught  you  Greek, 
and  they've  left  you  just  as  much  the  woman  as 
women  were  five  thousand  years  ago.  Oh,  I  know 
all  about  you — you  little  girl  whose  hair  tried  so 
hard  to  be  red.  Your  soul  touched  mine  as  we  sat 


FROM  A  TO  Z  95 

there  writing  words  —  words  —  words,  the  very 
words  in  which  men  try  to  tell  things,  and  can't  — 
and  I  know  all  about  what  you  would  do.  But  you 
shall  not  do  it.  Dear  little  copy  maker,  would  a  man 
standing  out  on  the  end  of  a  slippery  plank  have 
any  right  to  cry  to  someone  on  the  shore  — '  Come 
out  here  on  this  plank  with  me?  '  If  he  loved  the 
someone  on  the  shore,  would  he  not  say  instead  — 
'  Don't  get  on  this  plank?  '  Me  get  off  the  plank  — 
come  with  you  to  the  shore  —  you  are  saying?  But 
you  see,  dear,  you  only  know  slippery  planks  as 
viewed  from  the  shore  —  God  grant  you  may  never 
know  them  any  other  way ! 

"  It  was  you,  was  it  not,  who  wrote  our  definition 
of  happiness?  Yes,  I  remember  the  day  you  did  it. 
You  were  so  interested;  your  cheeks  grew  so  very 
red,  and  you  pulled  and  pulled  at  your  wavy  hair. 
You  said  it  was  such  an  important  definition.  And 
so  it  is,  Miss  Noah,  quite  the  most  important  of  all. 
And  on  the  page  of  life,  Miss  Noah,  may  happiness 
be  written  large  and  unblurred  for  you.  It  is  be 
cause  I  cannot  help  you  write  it  that  I  turn  away. 
I  want  at  least  to  leave  the  page  unspoiled. 

"  I  carry  a  picture  of  you.  I  shall  carry  it  al 
ways.  You  are  sitting  before  a  fireplace,  and  I 
think  of  that  fireplace  as  symbolising  the  warmth 
and  care  and  tenderness  and  the  safety  that  will 
surround  you.  And  sometimes  as  you  sit  there  let  a 
thought  of  me  come  for  just  a  minute,  Miss  Noah  — 


96  LIFTED  MASKS 

not  long  enough  nor  deep  enough  to  bring  you  any 
pain.  But  only  think  —  I  brought  him  happiness 
after  he  believed  all  happiness  had  gone.  He  was 
so  grateful  for  that  light  which  came  after  he 
thought  the  darkness  had  settled  down.  It  will 
light  his  way  to  the  end. 

"  We've  come  to  Z,  and  it's  good-bye.  There  is 
one  thing  I  can  give  you  without  hurting  you, —  the 
hope,  the  prayer,  that  life  may  be  very,  very  good 
to  you." 

The  sheets  of  paper  fell  from  her  hands.  She  sat 
staring  out  into  Dearborn  Street.  She  began  to 
see.  After  all,  he  had  not  understood  her.  Per 
haps  men  never  understood  women ;  certainly  he  had 
not  understood  her.  What  he  did  not  know  was 
that  she  was  willing  to  pay  for  her  happiness  —  pay 
• —  pay  any  price  that  might  be  exacted.  And  any 
way  —  she  had  no  choice.  Strange  that  he  could 
not  see  that !  Strange  that  he  could  not  see  the 
irony  and  cruelty  of  bidding  her  good-bye  and  then 
telling  her  to  be  happy ! 

It  simplified  itself  to  such  an  extent  that  she  grew 
very  calm.  It  would  be  easy  to  find  him,  easy  to 
make  him  see  —  for  it  was  so  very  simple  —  and 
then.  .  .  . 

She  turned  in  her  copy.  She  said  good-bye 
quietly,  naturally,  rode  down  in  the  lumbering  old 
elevator  and  started  out  into  the  now  drenching  rain 
toward  the  elevated  trains  which  would  take  her  to 


FROM  A  TO  Z  97 

the  West  Side;  it  was  so  fortunate  that  she  had 
heard  him  telling  one  day  where  he  lived. 

When  she  reached  the  station  she  saw  that  more 
people  were  coming  down  the  stairs  than  were  going 
up.  They  were  saying  things  about  the  trains,  but 
she  did  not  heed  them.  But  at  the  top  of  the  stairs 
a  man  in  uniform  said :  "  Blockade,  Miss.  You'll 
have  to  take  the  surface  cars." 

She  was  sorry,  for  it  would  delay  her,  and  there 
was  not  a  minute  to  lose.  She  was  dismayed,  upon 
reaching  the  surface  cars,  to  find  she  could  not  get 
near  them ;  the  rain,  the  blockade  on  the  "  L,"  had 
caused  a  great  crowd  to  congregate  there.  She 
waited  a  long  time,  getting  more  and  more  wet,  but 
it  was  impossible  to  get  near  the  cars.  She  thought 
of  a  cab,  but  could  see  none,  they  too  having  all  been 
pressed  into  service. 

She  determined,  desperately,  to  start  and  walk. 
Soon  she  would  surely  get  either  a  cab  or  a  car. 
And  so  she  started,  staunchly,  though  she  was  wet 
through  now,  and  trembling  with  cold  and  nervous 
ness. 

As  she  hurried  through  the  driving  rain  she  faced 
things  fearlessly.  Oh  yes,  she  understood  —  every 
thing.  But  if  he  were  not  well  —  should  he  not 
have  her  with  him?  If  he  had  that  thing  to  fight, 
did  he  not  need  her  help?  What  did  men  think 
women  were  like?  Did  he  think  she  was  one  to  sit 
down  and  reason  out  what  would  be  advantageous? 


98  LIFTED  MASKS 

Better  a  little  while  with  him  on  a  slippery  plank 
than  forever  safe  and  desolate  upon  the  shore! 

She  never  questioned  her  going;  were  not  life  and 
love  too  great  to  be  lost  through  that  which  could 
be  so  easily  put  right? 

The  buildings  were  reeling,  the  streets  moving  up 
and  down  —  that  awful  rain,  she  thought,  was  mak 
ing  her  dizzy.  Labouriously  she  walked  on  —  more 
slowly,  less  steadily,  a  pain  in  her  side,  that  awful 
reeling  in  her  head. 

Carriages  returning  to  the  city  were  passing  her, 
but  she  had  not  strength  to  call  to  them,  and  it 
seemed  if  she  walked  to  the  curbing  she  would  fall. 
She  was  not  thinking  so  clearly  now.  The  thing 
which  took  all  of  her  force  was  the  lifting  of  her  feet 
and  the  putting  them  down  in  the  right  place.  Her 
throat  seemed  to  be  closing  up  —  and  her  side  -. — 
and  her  head. 

Someone  had  her  by  the  arm.  Then  someone  was 
speaking  her  name ;  speaking  it  in  surprise  —  con 
sternation  —  alarm. 

It  was  Harold. 

It  was  all  vague  then.  She  knew  that  she  was  in 
a  carriage,  and  that  Harold  was  talking  to  her 
kindly.  "  You're  taking  me  there?  "  she  murmured. 

"  Yes  —  yes,  Edna,  everything's  all  right,"  he  re 
plied  soothingly. 

"  Everything's  all  right,"  she  repeated,  in  a  whis 
per,  and  leaned  her  head  back  against  the  cushions. 


FROM  A  TO  Z  99 

They  stopped  after  a  while,  and  Harold  was  stand 
ing  at  the  open  door  of  the  cab  with  something 
steaming  hot  which  he  told  her  to  drink.  "  You  need 
it,"  he  said  decisively,  and  thinking  it  would  help 
her  to  tell  it,  she  drank  it  down. 

The  world  was  a  little  more  defined  after  that,  and 
she  saw  things  which  puzzled  her.  "  Why,  it  looks 
like  the  city,"  she  whispered,  her  throat  too  sore  now 
to  speak  aloud. 

"  Why  sure,"  he  replied  banteringly ;  "  don't  you 
know  we  have  to  go  through  the  city  to  get  out  to 
the  South  Side?  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  see,"  she  cried,  holding  her  throat, 
"  but  you  see,  it's  the  oilier  way !  " 

"  Not  to-night,"  he  insisted ;  "  the  place  for  you 
to-night  is  home.  I'm  taking  you  where  you  be 
long." 

She  reached  over  wildly,  trying  to  open  the  door, 
but  he  held  her  back ;  she  began  to  cry,  ancf  he  talked 
to  her,  gently  but  unbendingly.  "  But  you  don't 
understand!  "  she  whispered,  passionately.  "  I've 
got  to  go  !  " 

"  Not  to-night,"  he  said  again,  and  something  in 
the  way  he  said  it  made  her  finally  huddle  back  in 
the  corner  of  the  carriage. 

Block  after  block,  mile  after  mile,  they  rode  on  in 
silence.  She  felt  overpowered.  And  with  submis 
sion  she  knew  that  it  was  Z.  For  the  whole  city  was 
piled  in  between.  Great  buildings  were  in  between, 


100  LIFTED  MASKS 

and  thousands  of  men  running  to  and  fro  on  the 
streets ;  man,  and  all  man  had  builded  up,  were  in  be 
tween.  And  then  Harold  —  Harold  who  had  always 
seemed  to  count  for  so  little,  had  come  and  taken  her 
away. 

Dully,  wretchedly  —  knowing  that  her  heart  would 
ache  far  worse  to-morrow  than  it  did  to-night  — 
she  wondered  about  things.  Did  things  like  rain 
and  street-cars  and  wet  feet  and  a  sore  throat  deter 
mine  life?  Was  it  that  way  with  other  people,  too? 
Did  other  people  have  barriers  —  whole  cities  full  of 
them  —  piled  in  between?  And  then  did  the  Har 
olds  come  and  take  them  where  they  said  they  be 
longed?  Were  there  not  some  people  strong  enough 
to  go  where  they  wanted  toj  go  ? 


VI '  '••'—• 

THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD 

THE  elements  without  were  not  in  harmony 
with  the  spirit  which  it  was!  desired  should  be 
engendered  within.  By  music,  by  gay  deco 
rations,  by  speeches  from  prominent  men,  the  board 
in  charge  of  the  boys'  reformatory  was  striving  to 
throw  about  this  dedication  of  the  new  building  an  at 
mosphere  of  cheerfulness  and  good-will  —  an  atmos 
phere  vibrant  with  the  kindness  and  generosity 
which  emanated  from  the  State,  and  the  thankful 
ness  and  loyalty  which  it  was  felt  should  emanate 
from  the  boys. 

Outside  the  world  was  sobbing.  Some  young  trees 
which  had  been  planted  along  the  driveway  of  the  re 
formatory  grounds,  and  which  were  expected  to  grow 
up  in  the  way  they  should  go,  were  rocking  back  and 
forth  in  passionate  insurrection.  Fallen  leaves  were 
being  spit  viciously  through  the  air.  It  was  a  sullen- 
looking  landscape  which  Philip  Grayson,  he  who  was 
to  be  the  last  speaker  of  the  afternoon,  saw  stretch 
ing  itself  down  the  hill,  across  the  little  valley,  and  up 
another  little  hill  of  that  rolling  prairie  state.  In  his 
ears  was  the  death  wail  of  the  summer.  It  seemed  the 
spirit  of  out-of-doors  was  sending  itself  up  in  mourn 
ful,  hopeless  cries. 

101 


102  LIFTED  MASKS 

The  speaker  who  had  been  delivering  himself  of  pe- 
daiiticefiGGur?igemG'ht  about  the  open  arms  with  which 
the  world  stood  ready  to  receive  the  most  degraded 
one,  would  that  degraded  one  but  come  to  the  world 
in  proper  spirit,  sat  down  amid  perfunctory  applause 
led  by  the  officers  and  attendants  of  the  institution, 
and  the  boys  rose  to  sing.  The  brightening  of  their 
faces  told  that  their  work  as  performers  was  more  to 
their  liking  than  their  position  as  auditors.  They 
threw  back  their  heads  and  waited  with  well-disci 
plined  eagerness  for  the  signal  to  begin.  Then,  with 
the  strength  and  native  music  there  are  in  some  three 
hundred  boys'  throats,  there  rolled  out  the  words  of 
the  song  of  the  State. 

There  were  lips  which  opened  only  because  they 
must,  but  as  a  whole  they  sang  with  the  same  hearti 
ness,  the  same  joy  in  singing,  that  he  had  heard  a 
crowd  of  public-school  boys  put  into  the  song  only 
the  week  before.  When  the  last  word  had  died 
away  it  seemed  to  Philip  Grayson  that  the  sigh  of 
the  world  without  was  giving  voice  to  the  sigh  of 
the  world  within  as  the  well-behaved  crowd  of  boys 
sat  down  to  resume  their  duties  as  auditors. 

And  then  one  of  the  most  important  of  the  pro 
fessors  from  the  State  University  was  telling  them 
about  the  kindness  of  the  State:  the  State  had  pro 
vided  for  them  this  beautiful  home ;  it  gave  them 
comfortable  clothing  and  nutritious  food;  it  fur 
nished  that  fine  gymnasium  in  which  to  train  their 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     103 

bodies,  books  and  teachers  to  train  their  minds ;  it 
provided  those  fitted  to  train  their  souls,  to  work 
against  the  unfortunate  tendencies  —  the  professor 
stumbled  a  little  there  —  which  had  led  to  their  com 
ing.  The  State  gave  liberally,  gladly,  and  in  re 
turn  it  asked  but  one  thing:  that  they  come  out  into 
the  world  and  make  useful,  upright  citizens,  citi 
zens  of  which  any  State  might  be  proud.  Was  that 
asking  too  much?  the  professor  from  the  State  Uni 
versity  was  saying. 

The  sobbing  of  the  world  without  was  growing 
more  intense.  Many  pairs  of  eyes  from  among  the 
auditors  were  straying  out  to  where  the  summer  lay 
dying.  Did  they  know  —  those  boys  whom  the 
State  classed  as  unfortunates  —  that  out  of  this 
death  there  would  come  again  life?  Or  did  they 
see  but  the  darkness  —  the  decay  —  of  to-day? 

The  professor  from  the  State  University  was  put 
ting  the  case  very  fairly.  There  were  no  flaws  — 
seemingly  —  to  be  picked  in  his  logic.  The  State 
had  been  kind ;  the  boys  were  obligated  to  good  citi 
zenship.  But  the  coldness  !  —  comfortlessness  !  —  of 
it  all.  The  open  arms  of  the  world !  —  how  mocking 
in  its  abstractness.  What  did  it  mean?  Did  it 
mean  that  they  —  the  men  who  uttered  the  phrase 
so  easily  —  would  be  willing  to  give  these  boys  aid, 
friendship  when  they  came  out  into  the  world  ?  What 
would  they  say,  those  boys  whose  ears  were  filled 
with  high-sounding,  non-committal  phrases,  if  some 


104  LIFTED  MASKS 

man  were  to  stand  before  them  and  say,  "  And  so, 
fellows,  when  you  get  away  from  this  place,  and  are 
ready  to  get  your  start  in  the  world,  just  come 
around  to  my  office  and  I'll  help  you  get  a  job?  "  At 
thought  of  it  there  came  from  Philip  Grayson  a 
queer,  partly  audible  laugh,  which  caused  those  near 
est'  him  to  look  his  way  in  surprise. 

But  he  was  all  unconscious  of  their  looks  of  in 
quiry,  absorbed  in  the  thoughts  that  crowded  upon 
him.  How  far  away  the  world  —  his  kind  of  people 
f — must  seem  to  these  boys  of  the  State  Reform 
School.  The  speeches  they  had  heard,  the  training 
that  had  been  given  them,  had  taught  them  • —  un 
consciously  perhaps,  but  surely  —  to  divide  the  world 
into  two  great  classes:  the  lucky  and  the  unlucky, 
those  who  made  speeches  and  those  who  must  listen, 
the  so-called  good  and  the  so-called  bad ;  perhaps  — 
he  smiled  a  little  at  his  own  cynicism  —  those  who 
were  caught  and  those  who  were  not. 

There  came  to  him  these  words  of  a  poet  of  whom 
he  used  to  be  fond: 

In  men  whom  men  pronounce  as  ill, 

I  find  so  much  of  goodness  still; 

In  men  whom  men   pronounce   divine, 

I  find  so  much  of  sin  and  blot; 
I  hesitate  to  draw  the  line 

Between  the  two,  when  God  has  not. 

When  God  has  not!     He  turned  and  looked  out 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     105 

at  the  sullen  sky,  returning  —  as  most  men  do  at 
times  —  to  that  conception  of  his  childhood  that 
somewhere  beyond  the  clouds  was  God.  Godl  Did 
God  care  for  the  boys  of  the  State  Reformatory? 
Was  that  poet  of  the  western  mountains  right  when 
he  said  that  God  was  not  a  drawer  of  lines,  but  a 
seer  of  the  good  that  was  in  the  so-called  bad,  and 
of  the  bad  in  the  so-called  good,  and  a  lover  of  them 
both? 

If  that  was  God,  it  was  not  the  God  the  boys  of 
the  reformatory  had  been  taught  to  know.  They  had 
been  told  that  God  would  forgive  the  wicked,  but  it 
had  been  made  clear  to  them  —  if  not  in  words,  in 
implications  —  that  it  was  they  who  were  the  wicked. 
And  the  so-called  godly  men,  men  of  such  exemplary 
character  as  had  been  chosen  to  address  them 
that  afternoon,  had  so  much  of  the  spirit  of  God 
that  they,  too,  were  willing  to  forgive,  be  tolerant, 
and  —  he  looked  out  at  the  bending  trees  with  a 
smile  —  disburse  generalities  about  the  open  arms 
of  the  world. 

What  would  they  think  —  those  three  hundred 
speech-tired  boys  —  if  some  man  who  had  been  held 
before  them  as  exemplary  were  to  rise  and  lay  bare 
his  own  life  —  its  weaknesses,  its  faults,  perhaps  its 
crimes  —  and  tell  them  there  was  weakness  and  there 
was  strength  in  every  human  being,  and  that  the 
world-old  struggle  of  life  was  to  overcome  one's 
weakness  with  one's  strength. 


106  LIFTED  MASKS 

The  idea  took  strange  hold  on  him.  It  seemed 
the  method  of  the  world  —  at  any  rate  it  had  been 
the  method  of  that  afternoon  —  for  the  men  who 
stood  before  their  fellows  with  clean  hands  to  plant 
themselves  on  the  far  side  of  a  chasm  of  conventions, 
or  narrow  self-esteem,  or  easily  won  virtue,  and  cry 
to  those  beings  who  struggled  on  the  other  side  of 
that  chasm  —  to  those  human  beings  whose  souls 
had  never  gone  to  school :  "  Look  at  us !  Our  hands 
are  clean,  our  hearts  are  pure.  See  how  beautiful 
it  is  to  be  good!  Come  ye,  poor  sinners,  and  be 
good  also."  And  the  poor  sinners,  the  untaught, 
birthmarked  human  souls,  would  look  over  at  the 
self-acclaimed  goodness  they  could  see  far  across 
the  chasm,  and  even  though  attracted  to  it  (which,  he 
grimly  reflected,  would  not  seem  likely)  the  thing  that 
was  left  with  them  was  a  sense  of  the  width  of  the 
chasm. 

He  had  a  sense  of  needless  waste,  of  unnecessary 
blight.  He  looked  down  at  those  three  hundred 
faces  and  it  was  as  if  looking  at  human  waste ;  and 
it  was  human  stupidity,  human  complacency  and 
cowardice  kept  those  human  beings  human  drift. 

With  what  a  smug  self-satisfaction  —  under  the 
mask  of  benevolence  —  the  speakers  of  that  after 
noon  had  flaunted  their  virtue  —  their  position ! 
How  condescendingly  they  had  spoken  of  the  home 
which  we,  the  good,  prepare  for  you,  the  bad,  and 
what  namby-pambyness  there  was,  after  all,  in  that 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     107 

sentiment  which  all  of  them  had  voiced  —  and  now 
you  must  pay  us  back  by  being  good! 

Oh  for  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood  to  stand  up  and 
tell  how  he  himself  had  failed  and  suffered !  For 
a  man  who  could  bridge  that  chasm  with  strong, 
broad,  human  understanding  and  human  sympathies 
—  a  man  who  would  stand  among  them  pulse-beat 
to  pulse-beat  and  cry  out,  "  I  know !  I  understand ! 
I  fought  it  and  I'll  help  you  fight  it  too !  " 

The  sound  of  his  own  name  broke  the  spell  that 
was  upon  him.  He  looked  to  the  centre  of  the  stage 
and  saw  that  the  professor  from  the  State  Univer 
sity  had  seated  himself  and  that  the  superintendent 
of  the  institution  was  occup}Ting  the  place  of  the 
speaker.  And  the  superintendent  was  saying: 

"  We  may  esteem  ourselves  especially  fortunate 
in  having  him  with  us  this  afternoon.  He  is  one  of 
the  great  men  of  the  State,  one  of  the  men  who  by 
high  living,  by  integrity  and  industry,  has  raised 
himself  to  a  position  of  great  honour  among  his  fel 
low  men.  A  great  party  —  may  I  say  the  greatest 
of  all  parties  ? —  has  shown  its  unbounded  confidence 
in  him  by  giving  him  the  nomination  for  the  gover 
norship  of  the  State.  No  man  in  the  State  is  held  in 
higher  esteem  to-day  than  he.  And  so  it  is  with 
special  pleasure  that  I  introduce  to  you  that  man  of 
the  future  —  Philip  Grayson." 

The  superintendent  sat  down  then,  and  he  him 
self  —  Philip  Grayson  —  was  standing  in  the 


108  LIFTED  MASKS 

place  where  the  other  speakers  had  stood.  It  was 
with  a  rush  which  almost  swept  away  his  outward 
show  of  calm  that  it  came  to  him  that  he  —  candi 
date  for  the  governorship  —  was  well  fitted  to  be 
that  man  of  flesh  and  blood  for  whom  he  had  sighed. 
That  he  himself  was  within  grasp  of  an  opportunity 
to  get  beneath  the  jackets  and  into  the  very  hearts 
and  souls  of  those  boys,  and  make  them  feel  that  a 
man  of  sins  and  virtues,  of  weaknesses  and  strength, 
a  man  who  had  had  much  to  conquer,  and  for  whom 
the  fight  would  never  be  finally  won,  was  standing 
before  them  stripped  of  his  coat  of  conventions 
and  platitudes,  and  in  nakedness  of  soul  and  sincer 
ity  of  heart  was  talking  to  them  as  a  man  who  un 
derstood. 

Almost  with  the  inception  of  the  idea  was  born 
the  consciousness  of  what  it  might  cost.  And  as 
in  answer  to  the  silent,  blunt  question,  Is  it  worth  it? 
there  looked  up  at  him  three  hundred  pairs  of  eyes 
—  eyes  behind  which  there  was  good  as  well  as  bad, 
eyes  which  had  burned  with  the  fatal  rush  of  pas 
sion,  and  had  burned,  too,  with  the  hot  tears  of  re 
morse  —  eyes  which  had  opened  on  a  hostile  world. 

And  then  the  eyes  of  Philip  Grayson  could  not 
see  the  eyes  which  were  before  him,  and  he  put  up  his 
hand  to  break  the  mist  —  little  caring  what  the  men 
upon  the  platform  would  think  of  him,  little  think 
ing  what  effect  the  words  which  were  crowding  into 
his  heart  would  have  upon  his  candidacy.  But  one 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     109 

thing  was  vital  to  him  now :  to  bring  upon  that  ugly 
chasm  the  levelling  forces  of  a  common  humanity, 
and  to  make  those  boys  who  were  of  his  clay  feel 
that  a  being  who  had  fallen  and  risen  again,  a 
fellow  being  for  whom  life  would  always  mean  a 
falling  and  a  rising  again,  was  standing  before 
them,  and  —  not  as  the  embodiment  of  a  distant 
goodness,  not  as  a  pattern,  but  as  one  among  them, 
verily  as  man  to  man  —  was  telling  them  a  few  things 
which  his  own  life  had  taught  hint  were  true. 

It  was  his  very  consecration  which  made  it  hard 
to  begin.  He  was  fearful  of  estranging  them  in 
the  beginning,  of  putting  between  them  and  him  that 
very  thing  he  was  determined  there  should  not  be. 

"  I  have  a  strange  feeling,"  he  said,  with  a  win 
ning  little  smile,  "  that  if  I  were  to  open  my  heart 
to-day,  just  open  it  clear  up  the  way  I'd  like  to  if 
I  could,  that  you  boys  would  look  into  it,  and  then 
jump  back  in  a  scared  kind  of  way  and  cry, 
*  Why  —  that's  me ! '  You  would  be  a  little  sur 
prised —  wouldn't  you?  —  if  you  could  look  back 
and  see  the  kind  of  boy  I  was,  and  find  I  was  much 
the  kind  of  boy  you  are? 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  think?  I  think  hypocrisy 
is  the  worst  thing  in  the  world.  I  think  it's  worse 
than  stealing,  or  lying,  or  any  of  the  other  bad 
things  you  can  name.  And  do  you  know  where  I 
think  lots  of  the  hypocrisy  comes  from?  I  think  it 
comes  from  the  so-called  self-made  men  —  from  the 


110  LIFTED  MASKS 

real  good  men,  the  men  who  say  *  I  haven't  got  one 
bad  thing  charged  up  to  my  account.' 

"  Now  the  men  out  campaigning  for  me  call  me 
a  self-made  man.  Your  superintendent  just  now 
spoke  of  my  integrity,  of  the  confidence  reposed  in 
me,  and  all  that.  But  do  you  know  what  is  the  hon 
est  truth?  If  I  am  any  kind  of  a  man  worth  men 
tioning,  if  I  am  deserving  of  any  honour,  any  con 
fidence,  it  is  not  because  I  was  born  with  my  heart 
filled  with  good  and  beautiful  things,  for  I  was  not. 
It  is  because  I  was  born  with  much  in  my  heart 
that  we  call  the  bad,  and  because,  after  that  bad  had 
grown  stronger  and  stronger  through  the  years  it 
was  unchecked,  and  after  it  had  brought  me  the 
great  shock,  the  great  sorrow  of  my  life,  I  began 
then,  when  older  than  you  boys  are  now,  to  see  a 
little  of  that  great  truth  which  you  can  put  briefly 
in  these  words :  '  There  is  good  and  there  is  bad 
in  every  human  heartj  and  it  is  the  struggle  of  life 
to  conquer  the  bad  with  the  good.'  What  I  am  try 
ing  to  say  is,  that  if  I  am  worthy  any  one's  confi 
dence  to-day,  it  is  because,  having  seen  that  truth, 
I  have  been  able,  through  never  ceasing  trying, 
through  slow  conquering,  to  crowd  out  some  of  the 
bad  and  make  room  for  a  little  of  the  good. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  three  hundred  pairs  of 
eyes  hard  upon  him  now,  "  some  of  us  are  born  to 
a  harder  struggle  than  others.  There  are  people 
who  would  object  to  my  saying  that  to  you, 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     111 

even  if  I  believed  it.  They  would  say  you  would 
make  the  fact  of  being  born  with  much  against 
which  to  struggle  an  excuse  for  being  bad.  But  look 
here  a  minute ;  if  you  were  born  with  a  body  not  as 
strong  as  other  boys'  bodies,  if  you  couldn't  run  as 
far,  or  jump  as  high,  you  wouldn't  be  eternally  say 
ing,  '  I  can't  be  expected  to  do  much ;  I  wasn't  born 
right.'  Not  a  bit  of  it!  You'd  make  it  your  busi 
ness  to  get  as  strong  as  you  could,  and  you  wouldn't 
make  any  parade  of  the  fact  that  you  weren't  as 
strong  as  you  should  be.  We  don't  like  people  who 
whine,  whether  it's  about  weak  bodies  or  weak  souls. 

"  I've  been  sitting  here  this  afternoon  wondering 
what  to  say  to  you  boys.  I  had  intended  telling 
some  funny  stories  about  things  which  happened  to 
me  when  I  was  a  boy.  But  for  some  reason  a  serious 
mood  has  come  over  me,  and  I  don't  feel  just  like 
those  stories  now.  I  haven't  been  thinking  of  the 
funny  side  of  life  in  the  last  half-hour.  I've  been 
thinking  of  how  much  suffering  I've  endured  since 
the  days  when  I,  too,  was  a  boy." 

He  paused  then ;  and  when  he  went  on  his  voice 
tested  to  the  utmost  the  silence  of  the  room: 
"  There  is  lots  of  sorrow  in  this  old  world.  Maybe 
I'm  on  the  wrong  track,  but  as  I  see  it  to-day  human 
beings  are  making  a  much  harder  thing  of  their  ex 
istence  than  there  is  any  need  of.  There  are  millions 
and  millions  of  them,  and  year  after  year,  genera 
tion  after  generation,  they  fight  over  the  same  old 


LIFTED  MASKS 

battles,  live  through  the  same  old  sorrows.  Doesn't 
it  seem  all  wrong  that  after  the  battle  has  been 
fought  a  million  times  it  can't  be  made  a  little  easier 
for  those  who  still  have  it  before  them? 

"  If  a  farmer  had  gone  over  a  bad  road,  and  the 
next  day  saw  another  farmer  about  to  start  over 
the  same  road,  wouldn't  he  send  him  back?  Doesn't 
it  seem  too  bad  that  in  things  which  concern  one's 
whole  life  people  can't  be  as  decent  as  they  are  about 
things  which  involve  only  an  inconvenience?  Doesn't 
it  seem  that  when  we  human  beings  have  so  much  in 
common  we  might  stand  together  a  little  better? 
I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter.  Most  of  the  people 
of  this  world  are  coated  round  and  round  with  self- 
esteem,  and  they're  afraid  to  admit  any  understand 
ing  of  the  things  which  aren't  good.  Suppose  the 
farmer  had  thought  it  a  disgrace  to  admit  he  had 
been  over  that  road,  and  so  had  said :  *  From  what 
I  have  read  in  books,  and  from  what  I  have  learned 
in  a  general  way,  I  fancy  that  road  isn't  good.' 
Would  the  other  farmer  have  gone  back?  I  rather 
think  he  would  have  said  he'd  take  his  chances.  But 
you  see  the  farmer  said  he  knew;  and  how  did  he 
know?  Why,  because  he'd  been  over  the  road  him 
self." 

As  he  paused  again,  looking  at  them,  he  saw  it 
all  with  a  clarifying  simplicity.  He  himself  knew 
life  for  a  fine  and  beautiful  thing.  He  had  won  for 
himself  some  of  the  satisfactions  of  understanding. 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     113 

certain  rare  delights  of  the  open  spirit.  He  wanted 
to  free  the  spirits  of  these  boys  to  whom  he  talked ; 
wanted  to  show  them  that  spirits  could  free  them 
selves,  indicate  to  them  that  self-control  and  self- 
development  carried  one  to  pleasures  which  sordid 
self-indulgences  had  no  power  to  bestow.  It  was 
a  question  of  getting  the  most  from  life.  It  was  a 
matter  of  happiness.  I 

It  was  thus  he  began,  slowly,  the  telling  of  his  life's 
story : 

"  I  was  born  with  strange,  wild  passions  in  my 
heart.  I  don't  know  where  they  came  from ;  I  only 
know  they  were  there.  I  resented  authority.  If 
someone  who  had  a  right  to  dictate  to  me  said, 
'Philip,  do  this,5  then  Philip  would  immediately 
begin  to  think  how  much  he  would  rather  do  the 
other  thing.  And,"  he  smiled  a  little,  and  some  of 
the  boys  smiled  with  him  in  anticipation,  "  it  was  the 
other  thing  which  Philip  usually  did. 

"  I  didn't  go  to  a  reform  school,  for  the  very  good 
reason  that  there  wasn't  any  in  the  State  where  I 
lived."  Some  of  he  boys  smiled  again,  and  he  could 
hear  the  nervous  coughing  of  one  of  the  party  mana 
gers  sitting  close  to  him.  "  I  was  what  you  would 
call  a  very  bad  boy.  I  didn't  mind  any  one.  I  was 
defiant  —  insolent.  I  did  bad  things  just  because 
I  knew  they  were  bad,  and  —  and  I  took  a  great 
deal  of  satisfaction  out  of  it." 

The  sighing  of  the  world  without  was  the  only 


114*  LIFTED  MASKS 

sound  which  vibrated  through  the  room.  "  I  say," 
he  went  on,  "  that  I  got  a  form  of  satisfaction  from 
it.  I  did  not  say  I  got  happiness;  there  is  a  vast 
difference  between  a  kind  of  momentary  satisfaction 
and  that  thing  —  that  most  precious  of  all  things  — 
which  we  call  happiness.  Indeed,  I  was  very  far 
from  happy.  I  had  hours  when  I  was  so  morose 
and  miserable  that  I  hated  the  whole  world.  And 
do  you  know  what  I  thought?  I  thought  there  was 
no  one  in  all  the  world  who  had  the  same  kind  of 
things  surging  up  in  his  heart  that  I  did.  I  thought 
there  was  no  one  else  with  whom  it  was  as  easy  to 
be  bad,  or  as  hard  to  be  good.  I  thought  that  no 
one  understood.  I  thought  that  I  was  all  alone. 

"  Did  you  ever  feel  like  that  ?  Did  you  ever  feel 
that  no  one  else  knew  anything  about  such  feelings 
as  you  had?  Did  you  ever  feel  that  here  was  you, 
and  there  was  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  that  the  rest 
of  the  world  didn't  know  anything  about  you,  and 
was  just  generally  down  on  you?  Now  that's  the 
very  thing  I  want  to  talk  away  from  you  to-day. 
You're  not  the  only  one.  We're  all  made  of  the  same 
kind  of  stuff,  and  there's  none  of  us  made  of  stuff 
that's  flawless.  We  all  have  a  fight;  some  an  easy 
one,  and  some  a  big  one,  and  if  you  have  formed  the 
idea  that  there  is  a  kind  of  dividing-line  in  the  world, 
and  that  on  the  one  side  is  the  good,  and  on  the  other 
side  the  bad,  why,  all  I  can  say  is  that  you  have  a 
wrong  notion  of  things. 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     115 

"  Well,  I  grew  up  to  be  a  man,  and  because  I 
hadn't  fought  against  any  of  the  stormy  things  in 
my  heart  they  kept  growing  stronger  and  stronger. 
I  did  lots  of  wild,  ugly  things,  things  of  which  I  am 
bitterly  ashamed.  I  went  to  another  place,  and  I 
fell  in  with  the  kind  of  fellows  you  can  imagine  I 
felt  at  home  with.  I  had  been  told  when  I  was  a 
boy  that  it  was  wrong  to  drink  and  gamble.  I  think 
that  was  the  chief  reason  I  took  to  drink  and  gam 
bling." 

There  was  another  cough,  more  pronounced  this 
time,  from  the  party  manager,  and  the  superinten 
dent  was  twisting  uneasily  in  his  seat.  It  was  the 
strangest  speech  that  had  ever  been  delivered  at  the 
boys'  reformatory.  The  boys  were  leaning  forward 
—  self-forgetful,  intent.  "  One  night  I  was  playing 
cards  with  a  crowd  of  my  friends,  and  one  of  the  men, 
the  best  friend  I  had,  said  something  that  made  me 
mad.  There  was  a  revolver  right  there  which  one 
of  the  men  had  been  showing  us.  Some  kind  of  a 
demon  got  hold  of  me,  and  without  so  much  as  a 
thought  I  picked  up  that  revolver  and  fired  at  my 
friend." 

The  party  manager  gave  way  to  an  exclamation 
of  horror,  and  the  superintendent  half  rose  from  his 
seat.  But  before  any  one  could  say  a  word  Philip 
Grayson  continued,  looking  at  the  half-frightened 
faces  before  him :  "  I  suppose  you  wonder  why  I  am 
not  in  the  penitentiary.  I  had  been  drinking,  and 


116  LIFTED  MASKS 

I  missed  my  aim ;  and  I  was  with  friends,  and  it  was 
hushed  up." 

He  rested  his  hand  upon  the  table,  and  looked 
out  at  the  sullen  landscape.  His  voice  was  not 
steady  as  he  went  on :  "  It's  not  an  easy  thing  to 
talk  about,  boys.  I  never  talked  about  it  to  any 
one  before  in  all  my  life.  I'm  not  telling  it  now  just 
to  entertain  you  or  to  create  a  sensation.  I'm  tell 
ing  it,"  his  voice  grew  tense  in  its  earnestness, 
"  because  I  believe  that  this  world  could  be  made  a 
better  and  a  sweeter  place  if  those  who  have  lived 
and  suffered  would  not  be  afraid  to  reach  out  their 
hands  and  cry :  '  I  know  that  road  —  it's  bad !  I 
steered  off  to  a  better  place,  and  I'll  help  you  steer 
off,  too.'" 

There  was  not  one  of  the  three  hundred  pairs  of 
eyes  but  was  riveted  upon  the  speaker's  colourless 
face.  The  masks  of  sullenness  and  defiance  had 
fallen  from  them.  They  were  listening  now  —  not 
because  they  must,  but  because  into  their  hungry 
and  thirsty  souls  was  being  poured  the  very  suste 
nance  for  which  —  unknowingly  —  they  had  yearned. 

"  We  sometimes  hear  people  say,"  resumed  the 
candidate  for  Governor,  "  that  they  have  lived 
through  hell.  If  by  that  they  mean  they've  lived 
through  the  deepest  torments  the  human  heart  can 
know,  then  I  can  say  that  I,  too,  have1  lived  through 
hell.  What  I  suffered  after  I  went  home  that  night 
no  one  in  this  world  will  ever  know.  Words  couldn't 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     117 

tell  it;  it's  not  the  kind  of  thing  words  can  come 
anywhere  near.  My  whole  life  spread  itself  out  be 
fore  me;  it  was  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  look  at. 
But  at  last,  boys,  out  of  the  depths  of  my  darkness, 
I  began  to  get  a  little  light.  I  began  to  get  some  un 
derstanding  of  the  battle  which  it  falls  to  the  lot  of 
some  of  us  human  beings  to  wage.  There  was  good 
in  me,  you  see,  or  I  wouldn't  have  cared  like  that, 
and  it  came  to  me  then,  all  alone  that  terrible  night, 
that  it  is  the  good  which  lies  buried  away  somewhere 
in  our  hearts  must  fight  out  the  bad.  And  so  — 
all  alone,  boys  —  I  began  the  battle  of  trying  to  get 
command  of  my  own  life.  And  do  you  know  —  this 
is  the  truth  —  it  was  with  the  beginning  of  that 
battle  I  got  my  first  taste  of  happiness.  There  is 
no  finer  feeling  in  this  world  than  the  sense  of  com 
ing  into  mastery  of  one's  self.  It  is  like  opening  a 
door  that  has  shut  you  in.  Oh,  you  don't  do  it  all 
in  a  minute.  This  is  no  miracle  I'm  talking  about. 
It's  a  fight.  But  it's  a  fight  that  can  be  won.  It's 
a  fight  that's  gloriously  worth  the  winning.  I'm 
not  saying  to  you,  '  Be  good  and  you'll  succeed.' 
Maybe  you  won't  succeed.  Life  as  we've  arranged 
it  for  ourselves  makes  success  a  pretty  tough  propo 
sition.  But  that  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  it  pays 
to  be  a  decent  sort.  You  and  I  know  about  how 
much  happiness  there  is  in  the  other  kind  of  thing. 
And  there  is  happiness  in  feeling  you're  doing  what 
you  can  to  develop  what's  in  you.  Success  or  fail- 


118  LIFTED  MASKS 

ure,  it  brings  a  sense  of  having  done  your  part, — 
that  bully  sense  of  having  put  up  the  best  fight  you 
could." 

He  leaned  upon  the  table  then,  as  though  very 
weary.  "  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure,  what  the  people 
of  my  State  will  think  of  all  this.  Perhaps  they 
won't  want  a  man  for  their  Governor  who  once  tried 
to  kill  another  man.  But,"  he  looked  around  at  them 
with  that  smile  of  his  which  got  straight  to  men's 
hearts,  "  there's  only  one  of  me,  and  there  are  three 
hundred  of  you,  and  how  do  I  know  but  that  in  telling 
you  of  that  stretch  of  bad  road  ahead  I've  made  a 
dozen  Governors  this  very  afternoon !  " 

He  looked  from  row  to  row  of  them,  trying  to  think 
of  some  last  word  which  would  leave  them  with  a 
sense  of  his  sincerity.  What  he  did  say  was :  "  And 
so,  boys,  when  you  get  away  from  here,  and  go  out 
into  the  world  to  get  your  start,  if  you  find  the  arms 
of  that  world  aren't  quite  as  wide  open  as  you  were 
told  they  would  be,  if  there  seems  no  place  where  you 
can  get  a  hold,  and  you  are  saying  to  yourself,  *  It's 
no  use  —  I'll  not  try,'  before  you  give  up  just  re 
member  there  was  one  man  who  said  he  knew  all 
about  it,  and  give  that  one  man  a  chance  to  show 
he  meant  what  he  said.  So  look  me  up,  if  luck  goes 
all  against  you,  and  maybe  I  can  give  you  a  little 
lift."  He  took  a  backward  step,  as  though  to  re 
sume  his  seat,  and  then  he  said,  with  a  dry  little 
smile  which  took  any  suggestion  of  heroics  from  what 


THE  MAN  OF  FLESH  AND  BLOOD     119 

had  gone  before,  "  If  I'm  not  at  the  State-house, 
you'll  find  my  name  in  the  directory  of  the  city  where 
your  programme  tells  you  I  live." 

He  sat  down,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  silence. 
Then,  full-souled,  heart-given,  came  the  applause. 
It  was  not  led  by  the  attendants  this  time ;  it  was  the 
attendants  who  rose  at  last  to  stop  it.  And  when 
the  clapping  of  the  hands  had  ceased,  many  of  those 
hands  were  raised  to  eyes  which  had  long  been  dry. 

The  exercises  were  drawn  to  a  speedy  close,  and 
he  found  the  party  manager  standing  by  his  side. 
"  It  was  very  grand,"  he  sneered,  "  very  high-sound 
ing  and  heroic,  but  I  suppose  you  know,"  jerking 
his  hand  angrily  toward  a  table  where  a  reporter 
for  the  leading  paper  of  the  opposition  was  writing, 
"  that  you've  given  them  the  winning  card." 

As  he  replied,  in  far-off  tone,  "  I  hope  so,"  the 
candidate  for  Governor  was  looking,  not  at  the  re 
porter  who  was  sending  out  a  new  cry  for  the  oppo 
sition,  but  into  those  faces  aglow  with  the  light 
of  new  understanding  and  new-born  hopes.  He 
stood  there  watching  them  filing  out  into  the  corri 
dor,  craning  their  necks  to  throw  him  a  last  look, 
and  as  he  turned  then  and  looked  from  the  window 
it  was  to  see  that  the  storm  had  sobbed  itself  away, 
and  that  along  the  driveway  of  the  reformatory 
grounds  the  young  trees  —  unbroken  and  unhurt  — 
were  rearing  their  heads  in  the  way  they  should 


vn 

HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA 

THEY  began  work  at  seven-thirty,  and  at  ten 
minutes  past  eight  every  hammer  stopped. 
In  the  Senate  Chamber  and  in  the  House,  on 
the  stairways  and  in  the  corridors,  in  every  office 
from  the  Governor's  to  the  custodian's  they  laid 
down  their  implements  and  rose  to  their  feet.  A 
long  whistle  had  sounded  through  the  building. 
There  was  magic  in  its  note. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  fellows  ?  "  asked 
the  attorney-general,  swinging  around  in  his  chair. 

"  Strike,"  declared  one  of  the  men,  with  becom 
ing  brevity. 

"Strike  of  what?" 

"  Carpet-Tackers'  Union  Number  One,"  replied 
the  man,  kindly  gathering  up  a  few  tacks. 

"  Never  heard  of  it." 

"  Organised  last  night,"  said  the  carpet  -tacker, 
putting  on  his  coat. 

"  Well  I'll  —  "  he  paused  expressively,  then  in 
quired:  "What's  your  game?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  boss,  this  executive  council  that 
runs  the  State-house  has  refused  our  demands." 

"  What  are  your  demands  ?  " 

120 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA 

"  Double  pay." 

"  Double  pay !  Now  how  do  you  figure  it  out 
that  you  ought  to  have  double  pay?  " 

"  Rush  work.  You  see  we  were  under  oath,  or 
pretty  near  that,  to  get  every  carpet  in  the  State- 
house  down  by  four  o'clock  this  afternoon.  Now 
you  know  yourself  that  rush  work  is  hard  on  the 
nerves.  Did  you  ever  get  rush  work  done  at  a 
laundry  and  not  pay  more  for  it?  We  was  anxious 
as  anybody  to  get  the  Capitol  in  shape  for  the  big 
show  this  afternoon.  But  there's  reason  in  all 
things." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  his  auditor,  "  there  is." 

The  man  looked  at  him  a  little  doubtfully.  "  Our 
president  —  we  elected  Johnny  McGuire  president 
last  night  — r  went  to  the  Governor  this  morning  with 
our  demands." 

The  Governor's  fellow  official  smiled  —  he  knew 
the  Governor  pretty  well.  "  And  he  turned  you 
down?" 

The  striker  nodded.  "  But  there's  an  election 
next  fall;  maybe  the  turning  down  will  be  turned 
around." 

"  Maybe  so  —  you  never  can  tell.  I  don't  know 
just  what  power  Carpet-Tackers'  Union  Number 
One  will  wield,  but  the  Governor's  pretty  solid,  you 
know,  with  Labour  as  a  whole." 

That  was  true,  and  went  home.  The  striker 
rubbed  his  foot  uncertainly  across  the  floor,  and 


LIFTED  MASKS 

took  courage  from  its  splinters.  "  Well,  there's 
one  thing  sure.  When  Prince  Ludwig  and  his  train 
load  of  big  guns  show  up  at  four  o'clock  this  after 
noon  they'll  find  bare  floors,  and  pretty  bum  bare 
floors,  on  deck  at  this  place." 

The  attorney-general  rubbed  his  own  foot  across 
the  splintered,  miserable  boards.  "  They  are  pretty 
bum,"  he  reflected.  "  I  wonder,"  he  added,  as  the 
man  was  half-way  out  of  the  door,  "  what  Prince 
Ludwig  will  think  of  the  American  working-man 
when  he  arrives  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Just  about  as  much,"  retorted  the  not-to-be- 
downed  carpet-tacker,  "  as  he  does-  about  American 
generosity.  And  he  may  think  a  few  things,"  he 
added  weightily,  "  about  American  independence." 

"  Oh,  he's  sure  to  do  that,"  agreed  the  attorney- 
general. 

He  joined  the  crowd  in  the  corridor.  They  were 
swarming  out  from  all  the  offices,  all  talking  of  the 
one  thing.  "  It  was  a  straight  case  of  hold-up," 
declared  the  Governor's  secretary.  "  They  sup 
posed  they  had  us  on  the  hip.  They  were  getting 
extra  money  as  it  was,  but  you  see  they  just  figured 
it  out  we'd  pay  anything  rather  than  have  these 
wretched  floors  for  the  reception  this  afternoon. 
They  thought  the  Governor  would  argue  the  ques 
tion,  and  then  give  in,  or,  at  any  rate,  compromise. 
They  never  intended  for  one  minute  that  the  Prince 
should  find  bare  floors  here.  And  I  rather  think," 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     123 

he  concluded,  "  that  they  feel  a  little  done  up  about 
it  themselves."  I 

"  What's  the  situation  ?  "  asked  a  stranger  within 
the  gates. 

"  It's  like  this,"  a  newspaper  reporter  told  him ; 
"  about  a  month  ago  there  was  a  fire  here  and  the 
walls  and  carpets  were  pretty  well  knocked  out  with 
smoke  and  water.  The  carpets  were  mean  old 
things  anyway,  so  they  voted  new  ones.  And  I  want 
to  tell  you  "  —  he  swelled  with  pride  —  "  that  the 
new  ones  are  beauties.  The  place'll  look  great  when 
we  get  'em  down.  Well,  you  know  Prince  Ludwig 
and  his  crowd  cross  the  State  on  their  way  to  the 
coast,  and  of  course  they  were  invited  to  stop.  Last 
week  Billy  Patton  —  he's  running  the  whole  show  — 
declined  the  invitation  on  account  of  lack  of  time, 
and  then  yesterday  comes  a  telegram  saying  the 
Prince  himself  insisted  on  stopping.  You  know  he's 
keen  about  Indian  dope  —  and  we've  got  Indian 
traditions  to  burn.  So  Mr.  Bill  Patton  had  to  make 
over  his  schedule  to  please  the  Prince,  and  of  course 
we  were  all  pretty  tickled  about  it,  for  more  reasons 
than  one.  The  telegram  didn't  come  until  five 
o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,  but  you  know  what  a 
hummer  the  Governor  is  when  he  gets  a  start.  He 
made  up  his  mind  this  building  should  be  put  in  shape 
within  twenty- four  hours.  They  engaged  a  whole 
lot  of  fellows  to  work  on  the  carpets  to-day.  Then 
what  did  they  do  but  get  together  last  night  — 


LIFTED  MASKS 

well,  you  know  the  rest.  Pretty  bum-looking  old 
shack  just  now,  isn't  it?"  and  the  reporter  looked 
around  ruefully. 

It  was  approaching  the  hour  for  the  legislature 
to  convene,  and  the  members  who  were  beginning  to 
saunter  in  swelled  the  crowd  —  and  the  indignation 
—  in  the  rotunda. 

The  Governor,  meanwhile,  had  been  trying  to  get 
other  men,  but  Carpet-Tackers'  Union  Number  One 
had  looked  well  to  that.  The  biggest  furniture 
dealer  in  the  city  was  afraid  of  the  plumbers.  "  Pipes 
burst  last  night,"  he  said,  "  and  they  may  not  do  a 
thing  for  us  if  we  get  mixed  up  in  this.  Sorry  — 
but  I  can't  let  my  customers  get  pneumonia." 

Another  furniture  man  was  afraid  of  the  team 
sters.  For  one  reason  or  another  no  one  was  dis 
posed  to  respond  to  the  Macedonian  cry,  and  when 
the  Governor  at  last  gave  it  up  and  walked  out  into 
the  rotunda  he  was  about  as  disturbed  as  he  per 
mitted  himself  to  get.  "  It's  the  idea  of  lying  down," 
he  said.  "  I'd  do  anything  —  anything !  —  if  I  could 
only  think  what  to  do." 

A  popular  young  member  of  the  House  overheard 
the  remark.  "  By  George,  Governor,"  he  burst 
forth,  after  a  minute's  deep  study  — "  say  — 
by  Jove,  I  say,  let's  do  it  ourselves ! " 

They  all  laughed,  but  the  Governor's  laugh 
stopped  suddenly,  and  he  looked  hard  at  the  young 
man. 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     125 

"  Why  not  ?  "  the  young  legislator  went  on.  "  It's 
a  big  job,  but  there  are  a  lot  of  us.  We've  all  put 
down  carpets  at  home ;  what  are  we  afraid  to  tackle 
it  here  for?" 

Again  the  others  laughed,  but  the  Governor  did 
not.  "  Say,  Weston,"  he  said,  "  I'd  give  *  lot  — 
I  tell  you  I'd  give  a  lot  —  if  we  just  could!" 

"  Leave  it  to  me ! "  —  and  he  was  lost  in  the 
crowd. 

The  Governor's  eyes  followed  him.  He  had  al 
ways  liked  Harry  Weston.  He  was  the  very  sort 
to  inspire  people  to  do  things.  The  Governor 
smiled  knowingly  as  he  noted  the  men  Weston  was 
approaching,  and  his  different  manner  with  the  vari 
ous  ones.  And  then  he  had  mounted  a  few  steps 
of  the  stairway,  and  was  standing  there  facing  the 
crowd. 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  began,  after  silence  had  been 
obtained,  "  this  isn't  a  very  formal  meeting,  but  it's 
a  mighty  important  one.  It's  a  clear  case  of  Carpet- 
Tackers'  Union  against  the  State.  What  I  want  to 
know  is  —  Is  the  State  going  to  lie  down?  " 

There  were  loud  cries  of  "  No !  "  —  "  Well,  I 
should  say  not !  " 

"  Well,  then,  see  here.  The  Governor's  tried  for 
other  men  and  can't  get  them.  Now  the  next  thing 
I  want  to  know  is  —  What's  the  matter  with  us?" 

They  didn't  get  it  for  a  minute,  and  then  every 
body  laughed. 


126  LIFTED  MASKS 

"It's  no  joke!  You've  all  put  down  carpets  at 
home;  what's  the  use  of  pretending  you  don't  know 
how  to  do  it  ?  Oh  yes  —  I  know,  bigger  building, 
and  all  that,  but  there  are  more  of  us,  and  the  prin 
ciple  of  carpet-tacking  is  the  same,  big  building  or 
little  one.  Now  my  scheme  is  this  —  Every  fellow 
his  own  carpet-tacker !  The  Governor's  office  puts 
down  the  Governor's  carpet;  the  Secretary's  office 
puts  down  the  Secretary's  carpet;  the  Senate  puts 
down  the  Senate  carpet  —  and  we'll  look  after  our 
little  patch  in  the  House !  " 

"  But  you've  got  more  fellows  than  anybody  else," 
cried  a  member  of  the  Senate. 

"  Right  you  are,  and  we'll  have  an  over-flow  meet 
ing  in  the  corridors  and  stairways.  The  House,  as 
usual,  stands  ready  to  do  her  part," —  that  brought 
a  laugh  for  the  Senators,  and  from  them. 

"  Now  get  it  out  of  your  heads  this  is  a  joke.  The 
carpets  are  here;  the  building  is  full  of  able-bodied 
men ;  the  Prince  is  coming  at  four  —  by  his  own  re 
quest,  and  the  proposition  is  just  this:  Are  we  go 
ing  to  receive  him  in  a  barn  or  in  a  palace?  Let's 
hear  what  Senator  Arnold  thinks  about  it." 

That  was  a  good  way  of  getting  away  from  the 
idea  of  its  being  a  joke.  Senator  Arnold  was  past 
seventy.  Slowly  he  extended  his  right  arm  and 
tested  his  muscle.  "  Not  very  much,"  he  said, 
"  but  enough  to  drive  a  tack  or  two."  That 
brought  applause  and  they  drew  closer  together,  and 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     127 

the  atmosphere  warmed  perceptibly.  "  I've  fought 
for  the  State  in  more  ways  than  one,"  • —  Senator 
Arnold  was  a  distinguished  veteran  of  the  Civil  War 
— "  and  if  I  can  serve  her  now  by  tacking  down  car 
pets,  then  it's  tacking  down  carpets  I'm  ready  to  go 
at.  Just  count  on  me  for  what  little  I'm  worth." 

Someone  started  the  cry  for  the  Governor. 
"  Prince  Ludwig  is  being  entertained  all  over  the 
country  in  the  most  lavish  manner,"  he  began,  with 
his  characteristic  directness  in  stating  a  situation. 
"  By  his  own  request  he  is  to  visit  our  Capitol  this 
afternoon.  I  must  say  that  I,  for  one,  want  to  be 
in  shape  for  him.  I  don't  like  to  tell  him  that  we 
had  a  labour  complication  and  couldn't  get  the  car 
pets  down.  Speaking  for  myself,  it  is  a  great  pleas 
ure  to  inform  you  that  the  carpet  in  the  Governor's 
office  will  be  in  proper  shape  by  four  o'clock  this 
afternoon." 

That  settled  it.  Finally  Harry  Weston  made 
himself  heard  sufficiently  to  suggest  that  when  the 
House  and  Senate  met  at  nine  o'clock  motions  to  ad 
journ  be  entertained.  "And  as  to  the  rest  of  you 
fellows,"  he  cried,  "  I  don't  see  what's  to  hinder  your 
getting  busy  right  now !  " 

There  were  Republicans  and  there  were  Demo 
crats  ;  there  were  friends  and  there  were  enemies ; 
there  were  good,  bad  and  —  no,  there  were  no  in 
different.  An  unprecedented  harmony  of  thought, 
a  millennium-like  unity  of  action  was  born  out  of  that 


128  LIFTED  MASKS 

sturdy  cry  —  Every  man  his  own  carpet-tacker !  The 
Secretary  of  State  always  claimed  that  he  drove  the 
first  tack,  but  during  the  remainder  of  his  life  the 
Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction  also  contended 
hotly  for  that  honour.  The  rivalry  as  to  who  would 
do  the  best  job,  and  get  it  done  most  quickly,  became 
intense.  Early  in  the  day  Harry  Weston  made  the 
rounds  of  the  building  and  announced  a  fine  of  one- 
hundred  dollars  for  every  wrinkle.  There  were 
pounded  fingers  and  there  were  broken  backs,  but 
slowly,  steadily  and  good-naturedly  the  State-house 
carpet  was  going  down.  It  was  a  good  deal  bigger 
job  than  they  had  anticipated,  but  that  only  added 
zest  to  the  undertaking.  The  news  of  how  the  State 
officials  were  employing  themselves  had  spread 
throughout  the  city,  and  guards  were  stationed  at 
every  door  to  keep  out  people  whose  presence  would 
work  more  harm  than  good.  All  assistance  from 
women  was  courteously  refused.  "  This  is  solemn 
business,"  said  the  Governor,  in  response  to  a  tele 
phone  from  some  of  the  fair  sex,  "  and  the  introduc 
tion  of  the  feminine  element  might  throw  about  it  a 
social  atmosphere  which  would  result  in  loss  of  time. 
And  then  some  of  the  boys  might  feel  called  upon  to 
put  on  their  collars  and  coats." 

Stretch  —  stretch  —  stretch,  and  tack  —  tack 
—  tack,  all  morning  long  it  went  on,  for  the  State- 
house  was  large  —  oh,  very  large.  There  should 
have  been  a  Boswell  there  to  get'  the  good  things,  for 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     129 

the  novelty  of  the  situation  inspired  wit  even  in 
minds  where  wit  had  never  glowed  before.  Choice 
bits  which  at  other  times  would  fairly  have  gone  on 
official  record  were  now  passed  almost  unnoticed,  so 
great  was  the  surfeit.  Instead  of  men  going  out  to 
lunch,  lunch  came  in  to  them.  Bridget  Haggerty, 
who  by  reason  of  her  long  connection  with  the  board 
ing-house  across  the  street  was  a  sort  of  unofficial 
official  of  the  State,  came  over  and  made  the  coffee 
and  sandwiches,  all  the  while  calling  down  blessings 
on  the  head  of  every  mother's  son  of  them,  and  an 
nouncing  in  loud,  firm  tones  that  while  all  five  of  her 
boys  belonged  to  the  union  she'd  be  after  tellin'  them 
what  she  thought  of  this  day's  work ! 

It  was  a  United  States  Senator  who  did  the  awful 
trick,  and,  to  be  fair,  the  Senator  did  not  think  of 
it  as  an  awful  trick  at  all.  He  came  over  there  in 
the  middle  of  the  morning  to  see  the  Governor,  and 
in  a  few  hurried  words  —  it  was  no  day  for  con 
versation —  was  told  what  was  going  on.  It  was 
while  standing  out  in  the  corridor  watching  the  per 
spiring  dignitaries  that  the  idea  of  his  duty  came  to 
him,  and  one  reason  he  was  sure  he  was  right  was 
the  way  in  which  it  came  to  him  in  the  light  of  a 
duty.  Here  was  America  in  undress  uniform! 
Here  was  —  not  a  thing  arranged  for  show,  but  ab 
solutely  the  thing  itself!  Prince  Ludwig  had  come 
with  a  sincere  desire  to  see  America.  Every  one 
knew  that  he  was  not  seeing  it  at  all.  He  would  go 


130  LIFTED  MASKS 

back  with  memories  of  bands  and  flags  and  people  all 
dressed  up  standing  before  him  making  polite 
speeches.  But  would  he  carry  back  one  small  whiff 
of  the  spirit  of  the  country?  Again  Senator  Bru 
ner  looked  about  him.  The  Speaker  of  the  House 
was  just  beginning  laying  the  stair  carpet;  a  judge 
of  the  Supreme  Court  was  contending  hotly  for  a 
better  hammer.  "  It's  an  insult  to  expect  any  de 
cent  man  to  drive  tacks  with  a  hammer  like  this,"  he 
was  saying.  Here  were  men  —  real,  live  men,  men 
with  individuality,  spirit.  When  the  Prince  had 
come  so  far,  wasn't  it  too  bad  that  he  should  not  see 
anything  but  uniforms  and  cut  glass  and  dress  suits 
and  other  externals  and  non-essentials?  Senator 
Bruner  was  a  kind  man ;  he  was  a  good  fellow ;  he 
was  hospitable  —  patriotic.  He  decided  now  in  fa 
vour  of  the  Prince. 

He  had  to  hurry  about  it,  for  it  was  almost 
twelve  then.  One  of  the  vice-presidents  of  the  road 
lived  there,  and  he  was  taken  into  confidence,  and 
proved  an  able  and  eager  ally.  They  located  the 
special  train  bearing  the  Prince  and  ordered  it 
stopped  at  the  next  station.  The  stop  was  made 
that  Senator  Patton  might  receive  a  long  telegram 
from  Senator  Bruner.  "  I  figure  it  like  this,"  the 
Senator  told  the  vice-president.  "  They  get  to  Bo- 
den  at  a  quarter  of  one  and  were  going  to  stop  there 
an  hour.  Then  they  were  going  to  stop  a  little 
while  at  Creyville.  I've  told  Patton  the  situation, 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     131 

and  that  if  he  wants  to  do  the  right  thing  by  the 
Prince  he'll  cut  out  those  stops  and  rush  right 
through  here.  That  will  bring  him  in  —  well,  they 
could  make  it  at  a  quarter  of  two.  I've  told  him  I'd 
square  it  with  Boden  and  Creyville.  Oh,  he'll  do  it 
all  right." 

And  even  as  he  said  so  came  the  reply  from  Pat- 
ton  :  "  Too  good  to  miss.  Will  rush  through. 
Arrive  before  two.  Have  carriage  at  Water 
Street." 

"That's  great!"  cried  the  Senator.  "Trust 
Billy  Patton  for  falling  in  with  a  good  thing.  And 
he's  right  about  missing  the  station  crowd.  Patton 
can  always  go  you  one  better,"  he  admitted,  grin- 
ningly. 

They  had  luncheon  together,  and  they  were  a  good 
deal  more  like  sophomores  in  college  than  like  a 
United  States  Senator  and  a  big  railroad  man. 
"  You  don't  think  there's  any  danger  of  their  get 
ting  through  too  soon?"  McVeigh  kept  asking, 
anxiously. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  the  Senator  assured  him.  "  They 
can't  possibly  make  it  before  three.  We'll  come  in 
just  in  time  for  the  final  skirmish.  It's  going  to  be 
a  jolly  rush  at  the  last." 

They  laid  their  plans  with  skill  worthy  of  their 
training.  The  State  library  building  was  across 
from  the  Capitol,  and  they  were  connected  by  tun 
nel.  "  I  never  saw  before,"  said  the  Senator,  "  what 


LIFTED  MASKS 

that  tunnel  was  for,  but  I  see  now  what  a  great 
thing  it  is.  We'll  get  him  in  at  the  west  door  of  the 
library  —  we  can  drive  right  up  to  it,  you  know,  and 
then  we  walk  him  through  the  tunnel.  That's  a 
stone  floor "  —  the  Senator  was  chuckling  with 
every  sentence  —  "so  I  guess  they  won't  be  carpet 
ing  it.  There's  a  little  stairway  running  up  from 
the  tunnel  —  and  say,  we  must  telephone  over  and 
arrange  about  those  keys.  There'll  be  a  good  deal 
of  climbing,  but  the  Prince  is  a  good  fellow,  and 
won't  mind.  It  wouldn't  be  safe  to  try  the  elevator, 
for  Harry  Weston  would  be  in  it  taking  somebody 
a  bundle  of  tacks.  The  third  floor  is  nothing  but 
store  rooms ;  we'll  not  be  disturbed  up  there,  and  we 
can  look  right  down  the  rotunda  and  see  the  whole 
show.  Of  course  we'll  be  discovered  in  time;  some 
one  is  sure  to  look  up  and  see  us,  but  we'll  fix  it  so 
they  won't  see  us  before  we've  had  our  fun,  and  it 
strikes  me,  McVeigh,  that  for  two  old  fellows  like 
you  and  me  we've  put  the  thing  through  in  pretty 
neat  shape." 

It  was  a  very  small  and  unpretentious  party  which 
stepped  from  the  special  at  Water  Street  a  little  be 
fore  two.  The  Prince  was  wearing  a  long  coat  and 
an  automobile  cap  and  did  not  suggest  anything  at 
all  formidable  or  unusual.  "  You've  saved  the  coun 
try,"  Senator  Patton  whispered  in  an  aside.  "  He 
was  getting  bored.  Never  saw  a  fellow  jolly  up  so 
in  my  life.  Guess  he  was  just  spoiling  for  some  fun. 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     133 

Said  it  would  be  really  worth  while  to  see  somebody 
who  wasn't  looking  for  him." 

Senator  Bruner  beamed.  "  That's  just  the 
point.  He's  caught  my  idea  exactly." 

It  went  without  a  hitch.  "I  feel,"  said  the 
Prince,  as  they  were  hurrying  him  through  the  tun 
nel,  "  that  I  am  a  little  boy  who  has  run  away  from 
school.  Only  I  have  a  terrible  fear  that  at  any 
minute  some  band  may  begin  to  play,  and  somebody 
may  think  of  making  a  speech." 

They  gave  this  son  of  a  royal  house  a  seat  on  a 
dry-goods  box,  so  placed  that  he  could  command  a 
good  view,  and  yet  be  fairly  secure.  The  final  skir 
mish  was  on  in  earnest.  Two  State  Senators  — 
coatless,  tieless,  collarless,  their  faces  dirty,  their 
hair  rumpled,  were  finishing  the  stair  carpet.  The 
chairman  of  the  appropriations  committee  in  the 
House  was  doing  the  stretching  in  a  still  uncarpeted 
bit  of  the  corridor,  and  a  member  who  had  recently 
denounced  the  appropriations  committee  as  a  dis 
grace  to  the  State  was  presiding  at  the  hammer. 
They  were  doing  most  exquisitely  harmonious  team 
work.  A  railroad  and  anti-railroad  member  who 
fought  every  time  they  came  within  speaking  dis 
tance  of  one  another  were  now  in  an  earnest  and  very 
chummy  conference  relative  to  a  large  wrinkle  which 
had  just  been  discovered  on  the  first  landing. 
Many  men  were  standing  around  holding  their  backs, 
and  many  others  were  deeply  absorbed  in  nursing 


134  LIFTED  MASKS 

their  fingers.  The  doors  of  the  offices  were  all  open, 
and  there  was  a  general  hauling  in  of  furniture  and 
hanging  of  pictures.  Clumsy  but  well-meaning  fin 
gers  were  doing  their  best  with  "  finishing  touches." 
The  Prince  grew  so  excited  about  it  all  that  they  had 
to  keep  urging  him  not  to  take  too  many  chances  of 
being  seen. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you,"  Senator  Bruner  was  saying, 
"  it  isn't  only  because  I  knew  it  would  be  funny  that 
I  wanted  you  to  see  it ;  but  —  well,  you  see  America 
isn't  the  real  America  when  she  has  on  her  best 
clothes  and  is  trying  to  show  off.  You  haven't  seen 
anybody  who  hasn't  prepared  for  your  coming,  and 
that  means  you  haven't  seen  them  as  they  are  at  all. 
Now  here  we  are.  This  is  us !  You  see  that  fellow 
hanging  a  picture  down  there?  He's  president  of 
the  First  National  Bank.  Came  over  a  little  while 
ago,  got  next  to  the  situation,  and  stayed  to  help. 
And  —  say,  this  is  good !  Notice  that  red-headed 
fellow  just  getting  up  from  his  knees?  Well,  he's 
president  of  the  teamsters'  union  —  figured  so  big 
in  a  strike  here  last  year.  I  call  that  pretty  rich! 
He's  the  fellow  they  are  all  so  afraid  of,  but  I  guess 
he  liked  the  idea  of  the  boys  doing  it  themselves,  and 
just  sneaked  in  and  helped. —  There's  the  Governor. 
He's  a  fine  fellow.  He  wouldn't  be  held  up  by  any 
body  —  not  even  to  get  ready  for  a  Prince,  but  he's 
worked  like  a  Trojan  all  day  to  make  things  come 
his  way.  Yes  sir  —  this  is  the  sure-enough  thing. 


HOW  THE  PRINCE  SAW  AMERICA     135 

Here  you  have  the  boys  off  dress  parade.  Not  that 
we  run  away  from  our  dignity  every  day,  but  —  see 
what  I  mean?  " 

"  I  see,"  replied  the  Prince,  and  he  looked  as 
though  he  really  did. 

"  You  know  —  say,  dodge  there !  Move  back ! 
No  —  too  late.  The  Governor's  caught  us.  Look 
at  him !  " 

The  Governor's  eyes  had  turned  upward,  and  he 
had  seen.  He  put  his  hands  on  his  back  —  he 
couldn't  look  up  without  doing  that  —  and  gave  a 
long,  steady  stare.  First,  Senator  Bruner  waved; 
then  Senator  Patton  waved;  then  Mr.  McVeigh 
waved;  and  then  the  Prince  waved.  Other  people 
were  beginning  to  look  up.  "  They're  all  on," 
laughed  Patton,  "  let's  go  down." 

At  first  they  were  disposed  to  think  it  pretty 
shabby  treatment.  "  We  worked  all  day  to  get  in 
shape,"  grumbled  Harry  Weston,  "  and  then  you  go 
ring  the  curtain  up  on  us  before  it's  time  for  our 
show  to  begin." 

But  the  Prince  made  them  feel  right  about  it. 
He  had  such  a  good  time  that  they  were  forced  to 
concede  the  move  had  been  a  success.  And  he  said 
to  the  Governor  as  he  was  leaving:  "  I  see  that  the 
only  way  to  see  America  is  to  see  it  when  America  is 
not  seeing  you." 


vin 

THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES 

NINE  —  ten  — "  The  old  clock  paused  as  if 
in  dramatic  appreciation  of  the  situation, 
and  then  slowly,  weightily,  it  gave  the  final 
stroke,  "Eleven!" 

The  Governor  swung  his  chair  half-way  round 
and  looked  the  timepiece  full  in  the  face.  Already 
the  seconds  had  begun  ticking  off  the  last  hour  of 
his  official  life.  On  the  stroke  of  twelve  another 
man  would  be  Governor  of  the  State.  He  sat  there 
watching  the  movement  of  the  minute  hand. 

The  sound  of  voices,  some  jovial,  some  argumenta 
tive,  was  borne  to  him  through  the  open  transom. 
People  were  beginning  to  gather  in  the  corridors, 
and  he  could  hear  the  usual  disputes  about  tickets  of 
admission  to  the  inaugural. 

His  secretary  came  in  just  then  with  some  letters. 
"  Could  you  see  Whitefield  now?  "  he  asked.  "  He's 
waiting  out  here  for  you." 

The  old  man  looked  up  wearily.  "  Oh,  put  him 
off,  Charlie.  Tell  him  you  can  talk  to  him  about 
whatever  it  is  he  wants  to  know." 

The  secretary  had  his  hand  on  the  knob,  when 
the  Governor  added,  "  And,  Charlie,  keep  everybody 

136 


THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES          137 

out,  if  you  can.  I'm  —  I've  got  a  few  private  mat 
ters  to  go  over." 

The  younger  man  nodded  and  opened  the  door. 
He  half  closed  it  behind  him,  and  then  turned  to  say, 
"  Except  Francis.  You'll  want  to  see  him  if  he 
comes  in,  won't  you?  " 

He  frowned  and  moved  impatiently  as  he  an 
swered,  curtly :  "  Oh,  yes." 

Francis !  Of  course  it  never  occurred  to  any  of 
them  that  he  could  close  the  door  on  Francis.  He 
drummed  nervously  on  his  desk,  then  suddenly 
reached  down  and,  opening  one  of  the  drawers,  tossed 
back  a  few  things  and  drew  out  a  newspaper.  He  un 
folded  this  and  spread  it  out  on  the  desk.  Running 
across  the  page  was  the  big  black  line,  "  Real  Gov 
ernors  of  Some  Western  States,"  and  just  below, 
the  first  of  the  series,  and  played  up  as  the  most 
glaring  example  of  nominal  and  real  in  governor 
ship,  was  a  sketch  of  Harvey  Francis. 

He  sat  there  looking  at  it,  knowing  full  well  that 
it  would  not  contribute  to  his  peace  of  mind.  It 
did  not  make  for  placidity  of  spirit  to  be  told  at  the 
end  of  things  that  he  had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  never 
been  anybody  at  all.  And  the  bitterest  part  of  it 
was  that,  looking  back  on  it  now,  getting  it  from 
the  viewpoint  of  one  stepping  from  it,  he  could  see 
just  how  true  was  the  statement :  "  Harvey  Fran 
cis  has  been  the  real  Governor  of  the  State;  John 
Morrison  his  mouthpiece  and  figurehead." 


138  LIFTED  MASKS 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  over  the 
January  landscape.  It  may  have  been  the  snowy 
hills,  as  well  as  the  thoughts  weighing  him  down, 
that  carried  him  back  across  the  years  to  one  snowy 
afternoon  when  he  stood  up  in  a  little  red  school- 
house  and  delivered  an  oration  on  "  The  Responsi 
bilities  of  Statesmanship."  He  smiled  as  the  title 
came  back  to  him,  and  yet  —  what  had  become  of 
the  spirit  of  that  seventeen-year-old  boy?  He  had 
meant  it  all  then ;  he  could  remember  the  thrill  with 
which  he  stood  there  that  afternoon  long  before  and 
poured  out  his  sentiments  regarding  the  sacredness 
of  public  trusts.  What  was  it  had  kept  him,  when 
his  chance  came,  from  working  out  in  his  life  the 
things  he  had  so  fervently  poured  into  his  school 
boy  oration? 

Someone  was  tapping  at  the  door.  It  was  an 
easy,  confident  tap,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  re 
flex  action  in  the  Governor's  "  Come  in." 

"  Indulging  in  a  little  meditation?  " 

The  Governor  frowned  at  the  way  Francis  said  it, 
and  the  latter  went  on,  easily :  "  Just  came  from  a 
row  with  Dorman.  Everybody  is  holding  him  up 
for  tickets,  and  he  —  poor  young  fool  —  looks  as 
though  he  wanted  to  jump  in  the  river.  Takes 
things  tremendously  to  heart  —  Dorman  does." 

He  lighted  a  cigar,  smiling  quietly  over  that 
youthful  quality  of  Dorman's.  "  Well,"  he  went  on, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  looking  about  the 


THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES          139 

room,  "  I  thought  I'd  look  in  on  you  for  a  minute. 
You  see  I'll  not  have  the  entree  to  the  Governor's 
office  by  afternoon."  He  laughed,  the  easy,  good- 
humoured  laugh  of  one  too  sophisticated  to  spend 
emotion  uselessly. 

It  was  he  who  fell  into  meditation  then,  and  the 
Governor  sat  looking  at  him ;  a  paragraph  from  the 
newspaper  came  back  to  him :  "  Harvey  Francis  is 
the  most  dangerous  type  of  boss  politician.  His  is 
not  the  crude  and  vulgar  method  that  asks  a  man 
what  his  vote  is  worth.  He  deals  gently  and  ten 
derly  with  consciences.  He  knows  how  to  get  a  man 
without  fatally  injuring  that  man's  self-respect." 

The  Governor's  own  experience  bore  out  the  sum 
mary.  When  elected  to  office  as  State  Senator  he 
had  cherished  old-fashioned  ideas  of  serving  his  con 
stituents  and  doing  his  duty.  But  the  very  first 
week  Francis  had  asked  one  of  those  little  favours  of 
him,  and,  wishing  to  show  his  appreciation  of  sup 
port  given  him  in  his  election,  he  had  granted  it. 
Then  various  courtesies  were  shown  him;  he  was  let 
in  on  a  "  deal,"  and  almost  before  he  realised  it,  it 
seemed  definitely  understood  that  he  was  a  "  Fran 
cis  man." 

Francis  roused  himself  and  murmured :  "  Fools  ! 
—  amateurs." 

"Leyman?"  ventured  the  Governor. 

"  Leyman  and  all  of  his  crowd !  " 

"  And  yet,"   the  Governor  could  not  resist,  "  in 


140  LIFTED  MASKS 

another  hour  this  same  fool  will  be  Governor  of  the 
State.  The  fool  seems  to  have  won." 

Francis  rose,  impatiently.  "  For  the  moment. 
It  won't  be  lasting.  In  any  profession,  fools  and 
amateurs  may  win  single  victories.  They  can't  keep 
it  up.  They  don't  know  how.  Oh,  no,"  he  insisted, 
cheerfully,  "  Leyman  will  never  be  re-elected.  Fact 
is,  I'm  counting  on  this  contract  business  we've  saved 
up  for  him  getting  in  good  work."  He  was  moving 
toward  the  door.  "  Well,"  he  concluded,  with  a 
curious  little  laugh,  "  see  you  upstairs." 

The  Governor  looked  at  the  clock.  It  pointed 
now  to  twenty-five  minutes  past  eleven.  The  last 
hour  was  going  fast.  In  a  very  short  time  he  must 
join  the  party  in  the  anteroom  of  the  House.  But 
weariness  had  come  over  him.  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  and  closed  his  eyes. 

He  was  close  upon  seventy,  and  to-day  looked  even 
older  than  his  years.  It  was  not  a  vicious  face,  but 
it  was  not  a  strong  one.  People  who  wanted  to  say 
nice  things  of  the  Governor  called  him  pleasant  or 
genial  or  kindly.  Even  the  men  in  the  appointive 
offices  did  not  venture  to  say  he  had  much  force. 

He  felt  it  to-day  as  he  never  had  before.  He  had 
left  no  mark;  he  had  done  nothing,  stood  for  noth 
ing.  Never  once  had  his  personality  made  itself 
felt.  He  had  signed  the  documents ;  Harvey  Fran 
cis  had  always  "  suggested  "  —  the  term  was  that 
man's  own  —  the  course  to  be  pursued.  And  the 


THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES          141 

"  suggestions  "  had  ever  dictated  the  policy  that 
would  throw  the  most  of  influence  or  money  to  that 
splendidly  organised  machine  that  Francis  con 
trolled. 

With  an  effort  he  shook  himself  free  from  his 
cheerless  retrospect.  There  was  a  thing  or  two 
he  wanted  to  get  from  his  desk,  and  his  time  was 
growing  very  short.  He  found  what  he  wanted, 
and  then,  just  as  he  was  about  to  close  the  drawer, 
his  eye  fell  on  a  large  yellow  envelope. 

He  closed  the  drawer ;  but  only  to  reopen  it,  take 
out  the  envelope  and  remove  the  documents  it  con 
tained;  and  then  one  by  one  he  spread  them  out  be 
fore  him  on  the  desk. 

He  sat  there  looking  down  at  them,  wondering 
whether  a  man  had  ever  stepped  into  office  with 
as  many  pitfalls  laid  for  him.  During  the  last 
month  they  had  been,  busy  about  the  old  State-house 
setting  traps  for  the  new  Governor.  The  "  machine  " 
was  especially  jubilant  over  those  contracts  the 
Governor  now  had  spread  out  before  him.  The  con 
vict  labour  question  was  being  fought  out  in  the  State 
just  then  —  organised  labour  demanding  its  repeal; 
country  taxpayers  insisting  that  it  be  maintained. 
Under  the  system  the  penitentiary  had  become  self- 
supporting.  In  November  the  contracts  had  come 
up  for  renewal ;  but  on  the  request  of  Harvey  Fran 
cis  the  matter  had  been  put  off  from  time  to  time, 
and  still  remained  open.  Just  the  week  before, 


LIFTED  MASKS 

Francis  had  put  it  to  the  Governor  something 
like  this: 

"  Don't  sign  those  contracts.  We  can  give  some 
reason  for  holding  them  off,  and  save  them  up  for 
Leyman.  Then  we  can  see  that  the  question  is  agi 
tated,  and  whatever  he  does  about  it  is  going  to 
prove  a  bad  thing  for  him.  If  he  doesn't  sign,  he's 
in  bad  with  the  country  fellows,  the  men  who  elected 
him.  Don't  you  see?  At  the  end  of  his  administra 
tion  the  penitentiary,  under  you  self-sustaining,  will 
have  cost  them  a  pretty  penny.  We've  got  him 
right  square !  " 

The  clock  was  close  to  twenty  minutes  of  twelve, 
and  he  concluded  that  he  would  go  out  and  join  some 
of  his  friends  he  could  hear  in  the  other  room.  It 
would  never  do  for  him  to  go  upstairs  with  a  long, 
serious  face.  He  had  had  his  day,  and  now  Leyman 
was  to  have  his,  and  if  the  new  Governor  did  better 
than  the  old  one,  then  so  much  the  better  for  the 
State.  As  for  the  contracts,  Leyman  surely  must 
understand  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  rough  sail 
ing  on  political  waters. 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  leave  the  room.  Walking 
to  the  window  he  again  stood  there  looking  out 
across  the  snow,  and  once  more  he  went  back  now 
at  the  end  of  things  to  that  day  in  the  little  red 
schoolhouse  which  stood  out  as  the  beginning. 

He  was  called  back  from  that  dreaming  by  the 
sight  of  three  men  coming  up  the  hill.  He  smiled 


THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES          143 

faintly  in  anticipation  of  the  things  Francis  and  the 
rest  of  them  would  say  about  the  new  Governor's 
arriving  on  foot.  Leyman  had  requested  that  the 
inaugural  parade  be  done  away  with  —  but  one  would 
suppose  he  would  at  least  dignify  the  occasion  by  ar 
riving  in  a  carriage.  Francis  would  see  that  the  op 
posing  papers  handled  it  as  a  grand-stand  play  to 
the  country  constituents. 

And  then,  forgetful  of  .Francis,  and  of  the  ap 
proaching  ceremony,  the  old  man  stood  there  by 
the  window  watching  the  young  man  who  was  com 
ing  up  to  take  his  place.  How  firmly  the  new  Gov 
ernor  walked !  With  what  confidence  he  looked  ahead 
at  the  State-house.  The  Governor  —  not  consider 
ing  the  inconsistency  therein  —  felt  a  thrill  of  real 
pride  in  thought  of  the  Statevs  possessing  a  man  like 
that. 

Standing  though  he  did  for  the  things  pitted 
against  him,  down  in  his  heart  John  Morrison  had 
all  along  cherished  a  strong  admiration  for  that 
young  man  who,  as  District  Attorney  of  the  State's 
metropolis,  had  aroused  the  whole  country  by  his 
fearlessness  and  unquestionable  sincerity.  Many  a 
day  he  had  sat  in  that  same  office  reading  what  the 
young  District  Attorney  was  doing  in  the  city  close 
by  —  the  fight  he  was  making  almost  single-handed 
against  corruption,  how  he  was  striking  in  the  high 
places  fast  and  hard  as  in  the  low,  the  opposition, 
threats,  and  time  after  time  there  had  been  that  same 


144  LIFTED  MASKS 

secret  thrill  at  thought  of  there  being  a  man  like  that. 
And  when  the  people  of  the  State,  convinced  that 
here  was  one  man  who  would  serve  them,  began  urg 
ing  the  District  Attorney  for  chief  executive,  Gov 
ernor  Morrison,  linked  with  the  opposing  forces,  do 
ing  all  he  could  to  bring  about  Leyman's  defeat, 
never  lost  that  secret  feeling  for  the  young  man, 
who,  unbacked  by  any  organisation,  struck  blow  after 
blow  at  the  machine  that  had  so  long  dominated  the 
State,  winning  in  the  end  that  almost  incomprehensi 
ble  victory. 

The  new  Governor  had  passed  from  sight,  and  a 
moment  later  his  voice  came  to  the  ear  of  the  lonely 
man  in  the  executive  office.  Some  friends  had 
stopped  him  just  outside  the  Governor's  door  with  a 
laughing  "  Here's  hoping  you'll  do  as  much  for  us 
in  the  new  office  as  you  did  in  the  old,"  and  the  new 
Governor  replied,  buoyantly :  "  Oh,  but  I'm  go 
ing  to  do  a  great  deal  more !  " 

The  man  within  the  office  smiled  a  little  wistfully 
and'  with  a  sigh  sat  down  before  his  desk.  The  clock 
now  pointed  to  thirteen  minutes  of  twelve;  they 
would  be  asking  for  him  upstairs.  There  were  some 
scraps  of  paper  on  his  desk  and  he  threw  them  into 
the  waste-basket,  murmuring :  "  I  can  at  least  give 
him  a  clean  desk." 

He  pushed  his  chair  back  sharply.     A  clean  desk ! 
The    phrase    opened    to    deeper    meanings. 
Why  not  clean  it  up  in  earnest?     Why  not  give  him 


THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES          145 

a  square  deal  —  a  real  chance  ?  Why  not  sign  the 
contracts? 

Again  he  looked  at  the  clock  —  not  yet  ten  min 
utes  of  twelve.  For  ten  minutes  more  he  was  Gov 
ernor  of  the  State !  Ten  minutes  of  real  governor 
ship!  Might  it  not  make  up  a  little,  both  to  his 
own  soul  and  to  the  world,  for  the  years  he  had 
weakly  served  as  another  man's  puppet?  The  con 
sciousness  that  he  could  do  it,  that  it  was  not  within 
the  power  of  any  man  to  stop  him,  was  intoxicating. 
Why  not  break  the  chains  now  at  the  last,  and  just 
before  the  end  taste  the  joy  of  freedom? 

He  took  up  his  pen  and  reached  for  the  inkwell. 
With  trembling,  excited  fingers  he  unfolded  the  con 
tracts.  He  dipped  his  pen  into  the  ink;  he  even 
brought  it  down  on  the  paper ;  and  then  the  tension 
broke.  He  sank  back  in  his  chair,  a  frightened, 
broken  old  man. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  whispered ;  "  no,  not  now.  It's  —  " 
his  head  went  lower  and  lower  until  at  last  it  rested 
on  the  desk  —  "  too  late." 

When  he  raised  his  head  and  grew  more  steady,  it 
was  only  to  see  the  soundness  of  his  conclusion. 
He  had  not  the  right  now  in  the  final  hour  to  buy  for 
himself  a  little  of  glory.  It  would  only  be  a  form  of 
self-indulgence.  They  would  call  it,  and  perhaps 
rightly,  hush  money  to  his  conscience.  They  would 
say  he  went  back  on  them  only  when  he  was  through 
with  them.  Oh,  no,  there  would  be  no  more  strength 


146  LIFTED  MASKS 

in  it  than  in  the  average  deathbed  repentance.  He 
would  at  least  step  out  with  consistency. 

He  folded  the  contracts  and  put  them  back  into 
the  envelope.  The  minute  hand  now  pointed  to  seven 
minutes  to  twelve.  Some  one  was  tapping  at  the 
door,  and  the  secretary  appeared  to  say  they  were 
waiting  for  him  upstairs.  He  replied  that  he  would 
be  there  in  a  minute,  hoping  that  his  voice  did  not 
sound  as  strange  to  the  other  man  as  it  had  to  him 
self. 

Slowly  he  walked  to  the  door  leading  into  the  cor 
ridor.  This,  then,  was  indeed  the  end ;  this  the  final 
stepping  down  from  office !  After  years  of  what 
they  called  public  service,  he  was  leaving  it  all  now 
with  a  sense  of  defeat  and  humiliation.  A  lump  was 
in  the  old  man's  throat;  his  eyes  were  blurred. 
"  But  you,  Frank  Leyman,"  he  whispered  passion 
ately,  turning  as  if  for  comfort  to  the  other  man, 
"  it  will  be  different  with  you  1  They'll  not  get  you 
—  not  you !  " 

It  lifted  him  then  as  a  great  wave  —  this  passion 
ate  exultation  that  here  was  one  man  whom  corrup 
tion  could  not  claim  as  her  own.  Here  was  one  hu 
man  soul  not  to  be  had  for  a  price!  There  flitted 
before  him  again  a  picture  of  that  seventeen-year- 
old  boy  in  the  little  red  schoolhouse,  and  close  upon 
it  came  the  picture  of  this  other  young  man  against 
whom  all  powers  of  corruption  had  been  turned  in 
vain.  With  the  one  it  had  been  the  emotional  lux- 


THE  LAST  SIXTY  MINUTES          147 

ury  of  a  sentiment,  a  thing  from  life's  actualities 
apart ;  with  the  other  it  was  a  force  that  dominated 
all  things  else,  a  force  over  which  circumstances  and 
design  could  not  prevail.  "  I  know  all  about  it,"  he 
was  saying.  "  I  know  about  it  all !  I  know  how 
easy  it  is  to  fall !  I  know  how  fine  it  is  to  stand !  " 

His  sense  of  disappointment  in  his  own  empty, 
besmirched  career  was  almost  submerged  then  as  he 
projected  himself  on  into  the  career  of  this  other 
man  who  within  the  hour  would  come  there  in  his 
stead.  How  glorious  was  his  opportunity,  how  lim 
itless  his  possibilities,  and  how  great,  to  his  own  soul 
the  satisfaction  the  years  would  bring  of  having 
done  his  best ! 

It  had  all  changed  now.  That  passionate  longing 
to  vindicate  himself,  add  one  thing  honourable  and 
fine  to  his  own  record,  had  altogether  left  him,  and 
with  the  new  mood  came  new  insight  and  what  had 
been  an  impulse  centred  to  a  purpose. 

It  pointed  to  three  minutes  to  twelve  as  he  walked 
over  to  his  desk,  unfolded  the  contracts,  and  one  by 
one  affixed  his  signature.  In  a  dim  way  he  was  con 
scious  of  how  the  interpretation  of  his  first  motive 
would  be  put  upon  it,  how  they  would  call  him 
traitor  and  coward;  but  that  mattered  little.  The 
very  fact  that  the  man  for  whom  he  was  doing  it 
would  never  see  it  as  it  was  brought  him  no  pang. 
And  when  he  had  carefully  blotted  the  papers,  af 
fixed  the  seal  and  put  them  away,  there  was  in  his 


148  LIFTED  MASKS 

heart  the  clean,  sweet  joy  of  a  child  because  he  ha'd 
been  able  to  do  this  for  a  man  in  whom  he  believed. 
The  band  was  playing  the  opening  strains  as  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him  and  started  upstairs. 


IX 

"OUT  THERE" 

THE  old  man  held  the  picture  up  before  him 
and  surveyed  it  with  admiring  but  disap 
proving  eye.  "  No  one  that  comes  along 
this  way  '11  have  the  price  for  it,"  he  grumbled. 
«  It  '11  just  set  here  'till  doomsday." 

It  did  seem  that  the  picture  failed  to  fit  in  with 
the  rest  of  the  shop.  A  persuasive  young  fellow 
who  claimed  he  was  closing  out  his  stock  let  the  old 
man  have  it  for  what  he  called  a  song.  It  was  only 
a  little  out-of-the-way  store  which  subsisted  chiefly 
on  the  framing  of  pictures.  The  old  man  looked 
around  at  his  views  of  the  city,  his  pictures  of  cats 
and  dogs  and  gorgeous  young  women,  his  flaming 
bits  of  landscape.  "  Don't  belong  in  here,"  he 
fumed,  "  any  more  'an  I  belong  in  Congress." 

And  yet  the  old  man  was  secretly  proud  of  his 
acquisition.  He  seemed  all  at  once  to  be  lifted  from 
his  realm  of  petty  tradesman  to  that  of  patron  of 
art.  There  was  a  hidden  dignity  in  his  scowling 
as  he  shuffled  about  pondering  the  least  ridiculous 
place  for  the  picture. 

It  is  not  fair  to  the  picture  to  try  repainting  it 
in  words,  for  words  reduce  it  to  a  lithograph.  It 

149 


150  LIFTED  MASKS 

was  a  bit  of  a  pine  forest,  through  which  there  ex 
uberantly  rushed  an  unspoiled  little  mountain 
stream.  Chromos  and  works  of  art  may  deal  with 
kindred  subjects.  There  is  just  that  one  difference 
of  dealing  with  them  differently.  "  It  ain't  what 
you  see,  so  much  as  what  you  can  guess  is  there," 
was  the  thought  it  brought  to  the  old  man  who  was 
dusting  it.  "  Now  this  frame  ain't  three  feet  long, 
but  it  wouldn't  surprise  me  a  bit  if  that  timber  kept 
right  on  for  a  hundred  miles.  I  kind  of  suspect  it's 
on  a  mountain  —  looks  cool  enough  in  there  to  be  on 
a  mountain.  Wish  I  was  there.  Bet  they  never  see 
no  such  days  as  we  do  in  Chicago.  Looks  as  though 
a  man  might  call  his  soul  his  own  —  out  there." 

He  began  removing  some  views  of  Lincoln  Park 
and  some  corpulent  Cupids  in  order  to  make  room 
in  the  window  for  the  new  picture.  When  he  went 
outside  to  look  at  it  he  shook  his  head  severely  and 
hastened  in  to  take  away  some  ardent  young  men 
and  women,  some  fruit  and  flowers  and  fish  which 
he  had  left  thinking  they  might  "  set  it  off."  It 
was  evident  that  the  new  picture  did  not  need  to  be 
"  set  off."  "  And  anyway,"  he  told  himself,  in  vin 
dication  of  entrusting  all  his  goods  to  one  bottom, 
"  I  might  as  well  take  them  out,  for  the  new  one 
makes  them  look  so  kind  of  sick  that  no  one  would 
have  them,  anyhow."  Then  he  went  back  to  mount 
ing  views  with  the  serenity  of  one  who  stands  for 
the  finer  things. 


"  OUT  THERE  "  151 

His  clamorous  little  clock  pointed  to  a  quarter 
of  six  when  he  finally  came  back  to  the  front  of  the 
store.  It  was  time  to  begin  closing  up  for  the  night, 
but  for  the  minute  he  stood  there  watching  the 
crowd  of  workers  coming  from  the  business  district 
not  far  away  over  to  the  boarding-house  region,  a 
little  to  the  west.  He  watched  them  as  they  came 
by  in  twos  and  threes  and  fours :  noisy  people  and 
worn-out  people,  people  hilarious  and  people  sullen, 
the  gaiety  and  the  weariness,  the  acceptance  and 
the  rebellion  of  humanity  —  he  saw  it  pass.  "  As 
if  any  of  them  could  buy  it,"  he  pronounced 
severely,  adding,  contemptuously,  "  or  wanted  to." 

The  girl  was  coming  along  by  herself.  He 
watched  her  as  she  crossed  to  his  side  of  the  street, 
thinking  it  was  too  bad  for  a  poor  girl  to  be  as  tired 
as  that.  She  was  dressed  like  many  of  the  rest  of 
them,  and  yet  she  looked  different  —  like  the  pic 
ture  and  the  chromo.  She  turned  an  indifferent 
glance  toward  the  window,  and  then  suddenly  she 
stood  there  very  still,  and  everything  about  her 
seemed  to  change.  "  For  all  the  world,"  he  told 
himself  afterward,  "  as  if  she'd  found  a  long-lost 
friend,  and  was  'fraid  to  speak  for  fear  it  was  too 
good  to  be  true." 

She  did  seem  afraid  to  speak  —  afraid  to  believe. 
For  a  minute  she  stood  there  right  in  the  middle  of 
the  sidewalk,  staring  at  the  picture.  And  when  she 
came  toward  the  window  it  was  less  as  if  coming 


LIFTED  MASKS 

than  as  if  drawn.  What  she  really  seemed  to  want 
to  do  was  to  edge  away ;  yet  she  came  closer,  as  close 
as  she  could,  her  eyes  never  leaving  the  picture,  and 
then  fear,  or  awe,  or  whatever  it  was  made  her  look 
so  queer  gave  way  to  wonder  —  that  wondering 
which  is  ready  to  open  the  door  to  delight.  She 
looked  up  and  down  the  street  as  one  rubbing  one's 
eyes  to  make  sure  of  a  thing,  and  then  it  all  gave 
way  to  a  joy  which  lighted  her  pale  little  face  like 
— "  Well,  like  nothing  I  ever  saw  before,"  was  all 
the  old  man  could  say  of  it.  "  Why,  she'd  never 
know  if  the  whole  fire  department  was  to  run  right 
up  here  on  the  sidewalk,"  he  gloated.  Just  then  she 
drew  herself  up  for  a  long  breath.  "See?"  he 
chuckled,  delightedly.  "  She  knows  it  has  a  smell !  " 
She  looked  toward  the  door,  but  shook  her  head. 
"  Knows  she  can't  pay  the  price,"  he  interpreted 
her.  Trier;  she  stepped  back  and  looked  at  the  num 
ber  above  the  door.  "  Coming  again,"  he  made  of 
that;  "  ain't  going  to  run  no  chances  of  losing  the 
place."  And  then  for  a  long  time  she  stood  there 
before  the  picture,  so  deeply  and  so  strangely  quiet 
that  he  could  not  translate  her.  "  I  can't  just  get 
the  run  of  it,"  was  his  bewildered  conclusion.  "  I 
don't  see  why  it  should  make  anybody  act  like  that." 
And  yet  he  must  have  understood  more  than  he  knew, 
for  suddenly  he  was  seeing  her  through  a  blur  of 
tears. 

As  he  began  shutting  up  for  the  night  he  was  so 


"  OUT  THERE  "  153 

excited  about  the  way  she  looked  when  she  finally 
turned  away  that  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  be  de 
pressed  about  her  inability  to  pay  the  price. 

He  kept  thinking  of  her,  wondering  about  her, 
during  the  next  day.  At  a  little  before  six  he  took 
up  his  station  near  the  front  window.  Once  more 
the  current  of  workers  flowed  by.  "  I'm  an  old 
f ool,"  he  told  himself,  irritated  at  the  wait ;  "  as  if 
it  makes  any  difference  whether  she  comes  or  not  — 
when  she  can't  buy  it,  anyhow.  She's  just  as  big  a 
fool  as  I  am  —  liking  it  when  she  can't  have  it,  only 
I'm  the  biggest  fool  of  all  —  caring  whether  she  likes 
it  or  not."  But  just  then  the  girl  passed  quickly 
by  a  crowd  of  girls  who  were  ahead  of  her  and  came 
hurrying  across  the  street.  She  was  walking  fast, 
and  looked  excited  and  anxious.  "  Afraid  it  might 
be  gone,"  he  said  —  adding,  grimly :  "  Needn't 
worry  much  about  that." 

She  came  up  to  the  picture  as  some  people  would 
enter  a  church.  And  yet  the  joy  which  flooded  her 
face  is  not  well  known  to  churches.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  it's  like  "  —  the  old  man's  thoughts  stumbling 
right  into  the  heart  of  it  — "  it's  like  someone  that's 
been  wandering  round  in  a  desert  country  all  of  a 
sudden  coming  on  a  spring.  She's  thirsty  —  she's 
drinking  it  in  —  she  can't  get  enough  of  it.  It's  — 
it's  the  water  of  life  to  her ! "  And  then,  ashamed 
of  saying  a  thing  that  sounded  as  if  it  were  out  of  a 
poem,  he  shook  his  shoulders  roughly  as  if  to  shake 


154  LIFTED  MASKS 

off  a  piece  of  sentiment  unbecoming  his  age  and  sex. 

He  went  to  the  door  and  watched  her  as  she  passed 
away.  "  I'll  bet  she'd  never  tip  the  scale  to  one 
hundred  pounds,"  he  decided.  "  Looks  like  a  good 
wind  could  blow  her  away."  She  stooped  a  little, 
and  just  as  she  passed  from  sight  he  saw  that  she 
was  coughing. 

Then  the  old  man  made  what  he  prided  himself  was 
a  great  deduction.  "  She's  been  there,  and  she 
wants  to  go  back.  This  kind  of  takes  her  back  for 
a  minute,  and  when  she  gets  the  breath  of  it  she  ain't 
so  homesick." 

All  through  those  July  days  he  watched  each  night 
for  the  frail-looking  little  girl  who  liked  the  picture 
of  the  pines.  She  would  always  come  hurrying 
across  the  street  in  the  same  eager  way,  an  eagerness 
close  to  the  feverish.  But  the  tenseness  would  al 
ways  relax  as  she  saw  the  picture.  "  She  never  looks 
quite  so  wilted  down  when  she  goes  away  as  she  does 
when  she  comes,"  the  old  man  saw.  "  Upon  my  soul, 
I  believe  she  really  goes  there.  It's  —  oh,  Lord  " — 
irritated  at  getting  beyond  his  depth  — "  /  don't 
know ! " 

He  never  called  it  anything  now  but  "  Her  Pic 
ture."  One  day  at  just  ten  minutes  of  six  he  took 
it  out  of  the  window.  "  Seems  kind  of  mean,"  he  ad 
mitted,  "  but  I  just  want  to  find  out  how  much  she 
does  think  of  it." 

And  when  he  found  out  he  told  himself  that  of  all 


"  OUT  THERE  "  155 

the  mean  men  God  had  ever  let  live,  he  was  the  mean 
est.  The  girl  came  along  in  the  usual  hurried,  anx 
ious  fashion.  And  when  she  saw  the  empty  window 
he  thought  for  a  minute  she  was  going  to  sink  right 
down  there  on  the  sidewalk.  Everything  about  her 
seemed  to  give  way  —  as  if  something  from  which 
she  had  been  drawing  had  been  taken  from  her.  The 
luminousness  gone  from  her  face,  there  were  cruel 
revelations.  "  Blast  my  soul!  "  the  old  man  mut 
tered  angrily,  not  far  from  tearfully.  She  looked  up 
and  down  the  noisy,  dirty,  parched  street,  then  back 
to  the  empty  window.  For  a  minute  she  just  stood 
there  —  that  was  the  worst  minute  of  all.  And  then 

—  accepting  —  she  turned  and  walked  slowly  away, 
walked  as  the  too-weary  and  the  too-often  disap 
pointed  walk. 

It  was  with  not  wholly  steady  hand  that  the  old 
man  hastened  to  replace  the  picture,  all  the  while  tell 
ing  himself  what  he  thought  of  himself:  more  low- 
down  than  the  cat  who  plays  with  the  mouse,  meaner 
than  the  man  who'd  take  the  bone  from  the  dog,  less 
to  be  loved  than  the  man  who  would  kick  over  the 
child's  play-house,  only  to  be  compared  with  the  brute 
who  would  snatch  the  cup  of  water  from  the  dying 

—  such     were    the    verdicts     he    pronounced.     He 
thought  perhaps  she  would  come  back,  and  stayed 
there  until  almost  seven,  waiting  for  her,  though  pre 
tending  it  was  necessary  that  he  take  down  and  then 
put  up  again  the  front  curtains.     All  the  next  day 


156  LIFTED  MASKS 

he  was  restless  and  irritable.  As  if  to  make  up  to 
the  girl  for  the  contemptible  trick  he  had  played  he 
spent  a  whole  hour  that  afternoon  arranging  a 
tapestry  background  for  the  picture.  "  She'll 
think,"  he  told  himself,  "  that  this  was  why  it  was 
out,  and  won't  be  worried  about  its  being  gone  again. 
This  will  just  be  a  little  sign  to  her  that  it's  here  to 
stay." 

He  began  his  watch  that  night  at  half-past 
five.  After  fifteen  minutes  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  she  might  be  so  disheartened  she  would  go  home 
by  another  street.  He  became  so  gloomily  certain 
she  would  do  this  that  he  was  jubilant  when  he  finally 
saw  her  coming  along  on  the  other  side  —  coming 
purposelessly,  shorn  of  that  eagerness  which  had  al 
ways  been  able,  for  the  moment,  to  vanquish  the 
tiredness.  But  when  she  came  to  the  place  where 
she  always  crossed  the  street  she  only  stood  there 
an  instant  and  then,  a  little  more  slowly,  a  little  more 
droopingly,  walked  on.  She  had  given  up !  She  was 
not  coming  over! 

But  she  did  come.  After  she  had  gone  a  few 
steps  she  hesitated  again  and  this  time  started  across 
the  street.  "  That's  right,"  approved  the  old  man, 
"  never  give  up  the  ship !  " 

She  passed  the  store  as  if  she  were  not  going  to 
look  in ;  she  seemed  trying  not  to  look,  but  her  head 
turned  —  and  she  saw  the  picture.  First  her  body 
seemed  to  stiffen,  and  then  something  —  he  couldn't 


"  OUT  THERE  "  157 

make  out  whether  or  not  it  was  a  sob  —  shook  her, 
and  as  she  came  toward  the  picture  on  her  white, 
tired  face  were  the  tears. 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  he  murmured  affectionately 
to  her  retreating  form,  "  it  won't  never  be  gone 
again." 

The  very  next  week  he  was  put  to  the  test.  The 
kind  of  lady  who  did  not  often  pass  along  that  street 
entered  the  shop  and  asked  to  see  the  picture  in  the 
window.  He  looked  at  her  suspiciously.  Then  he 
frowned  at  her,  as  he  stood  there,  fumbling.  Her 
picture!  What  would  she  think?  What  would  she 
do?  Then  a  crafty  smile  stole  over  his  face  and  he 
walked  to  the  window  and  got  the  picture.  "  The 
price  of  this  picture,  madame,"  he  said,  haughtily, 
"  is  forty  dollars,"— adding  to  himself,  "  That'll  fix 
her." 

But  the  lady  made  no  comment,  and  stood  there 
holding  the  picture  up  before  her.  "  I  will  take  it," 
she  said,  quietly. 

He  stared  at  her  stupidly.  Forty  dollars !  Then 
it  must  be  that  the  picture  was  better  than  the  young 
man  had  known.  "  Will  you  wrap  it,  please?  "  she 
asked.  "  I  will  take  it  with  me." 

He  turned  to  the  back  of  the  store.  Forty  dol 
lars  !  —  he  kept  repeating  it  in  dazed  fashion.  And 
they  had  raised  the  rent^  on  him,  and  the  papers  said 
coal  would  be  high  that  winter  —  those  facts  seemed 
to  have  something  to  do  with  forty  dollars.  Forty 


158  LIFTED  MASKS 

dollars!* — it  was  hammering  at  him,  overwhelmed 
him,  too  big  a  sum  to  contend  with.  With  long,  grim 
stroke  he  tore  off  the  wrapping  paper;  stoically  he 
began  folding  it.  But  something  was  the  matter. 
The  paper  would  not  go  on  right.  Three  times  he 
took  it  off,  and  each  time  he  could  not  help  looking 
down  at  the  picture  of  the  pines.  And  each  time 
the  forest  seemed  to  open  a  little  farther ;  each  time 
it  seemed  bigger — bigger  even  than  forty  dollars; 
it  seemed  as  if  it  knew  things  —  things  more  impor 
tant  than  even  coal  and  rent.  And  then  the  strang 
est  thing  of  all  happened:  the  forest  faded  away 
into  its  own  shadowy  distances,  and  in  its  place  was 
a  noisy,  crowded,  sun-baked  street,  and  across  the 
street  was  eagerly  hurrying  an  anxious  little  girl, 
a  frail  little  wisp  of  a  girl  who  probably  should  not 
be  crossing  hot,  noisy  streets  at  all  —  then  a  light 
in  tired  eyes,  a  smile  upon  a  worn  face,  relief  as  from 
a  cooling  breeze  —  and  anyway,  suddenly  furious 
at  the  lady,  furious  at  himself  — "  he'd  be  gol- 
darned  if  it  wasn't  her  picture !  " 

He  walked  firmly  back  to  the  front  of  the  store. 
"  I  forgot  at  first,"  he  said,  brusquely,  "  that  this 
picture  belongs  to  someone  else." 

The  lady  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  "  I  do 
not  understand,"  she  said. 

"  There's  nothing  to  understand,"  he  fairly 
shouted,  "  except  that  it  belongs  to  someone  else !  " 

She  turned  away,  but  came  back  to  him,       "  I 


"  OUT  THERE  "  159 

will  give  you  fifty  dollars  for  it,"  she  said,  in  her 
quiet  way. 

"  Madame,"  he  thundered  at  her,  "  you  can  stand 
there  and  offer  me  five  hundred  dollars,  and  I'm  here 
to  tell  you  that  this  picture  is  not  for  sale.  Do  you 
hear?  " 

"  I  certainly  do,"  replied  the  lady,  and  walked 
from  the  store. 

He  was  a  long  time  in  cooling  off.  "  I  tell  you," 
he  stormed  to  a  very  blue  Lake  Michigan  he  was 
putting  into  a  frame,  "  it's  hers  —  it's  hern  —  and 
anybody  that  comes  along  here  with  any  nonsense 
is  just  going  to  hear  from  me!  " 

In  the  days  which  followed  he  often  thought  to 
go  out  and  speak  to  her,  but  perhaps  the  old  man 
had  a  restraining  sense  of  values.  He  planned  some 
day  to  go  out  and  tell  her  the  picture  was  hers,  but 
that  seemed  a  silly  thing  to  tell  her,  for  surely  she 
knew  it  anyway.  He  worried  a  good  deal  about  her 
cough,  which  seemed  to  be  getting  worse,  and  he  had 
it  all  figured  out  that  when  cold  weather  came  he 
would  have  her  come  in  where  it  was  warm,  and  take 
her  look  in  there.  He  felt  that  he  knew  all  about 
her,  and  though  he  did  not  know  her  name,  though 
he  had  never  heard  her  speak  one  word,  in  some  ways 
he  felt  closer  to  her  than  to  any  one  else  in  the 
world. 

Yet  if  the  old  man  had  known  just  how  it  was 
with  the  girl  it  is  altogether  unlikely  that  he  would 


160  LIFTED  MASKS 

have  understood.  It  would  have  mystified  and  dis 
appointed  him  had  he  known  that  she  had  never  seen 
a  pine  forest  or  a  mountain  in  her  life.  Indeed 
there  was  a  great  deal  about  the  little  girl  which  the 
old  man,  together  with  almost  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  would  not  have  understood. 

Not  that  the  surface  facts  about  her  were  either 
incomprehensible  or  interesting.  The  tale  of  her 
existence  would  sound  much  like  that  of  a  hundred 
other  girls  in  the  same  city.  Inquiry  about  her 
would  have  developed  the  facts  that  she  did  type 
writing  for  a  land  company,  that  she  did  not  seem  to 
have  any  people,  and  lived  at  a  big  boarding-house. 
At  the  boarding-house  they  would  have  told  you  that 
she  was  a  nice  little  thing,  quiet  as  a  mouse,  and  that 
it  was  too  bad  she  had  to  work,  for  she  seemed 
more  than  half  sick.  There  the  story  would  have 
rested,  and  the  real  things  about  her  would  not  have 
been  touched. 

She  worked  for  the  Chicago  branch  of  a  big 
Northwestern  land  company.  They  dealt  in  the 
lands  of  Idaho,  Montana,  Oregon  and  Washington. 
The  things  she  sat  at  her  typewriter  and  wrote  were 
of  the  wonders  of  that  great  country :  the  great 
timber  lands,  the  valleys  and  hills,  towering  moun 
tain  peaks  and  rushing  rivers.  She  typewrote  "  liter 
ature  "  telling  how  there  was  a  chance  for  every 
man  out  there,  how  the  big,  exhaustless  land  was 
eager  to  yield  of  its  store  to  all  who  would  come  and 


"  OUT  THERE  "  161 

seek.  Day  after  day  she  wrote  those  things  telling 
how  the  sick  were  made  well  and  the  poor  were  made 
rich,  how  it  was  a  land  of  indescribable  wonders 
which  the  feeble  pen  could  not  hope  to  portray. 

And  the  girl  with  whom  almost  everything  in  life 
had  gone  wrong  came  to  think  of  Out  There  as  the 
place  where  everything  was  right.  It  was  the  far 
country  where  there  was  no  weariness  nor  loneliness, 
the  land  where  one  did  not  grow  tired,  where  one 
never  woke  up  in  the  morning  too  tired  to  get  up, 
where  no  one  went  to  bed  at  night  too  tired  to  go  to 
sleep.  The  street-cars  did  not  ring  their  gongs 
so  loud  Out  There,  the  newsboys  had  pleasant  voices, 
and  there  were  no  elevated  trains.  It  was  a  pure, 
high  land  which  knew  no  smoke  nor  dirt,  a  land 
where  great  silences  drew  one  to  the  heart  of  peace, 
where  the  people  in  the  next  room  did  not  come  in 
and  bang  things  around  late  at  night.  Out  There 
was  a  wide  land  where  buildings  were  far  apart  and 
streets  were  not  crowded.  Even  the  horses  did  not 
grow  tired  Out  There.  Oh,  it  was  a  land  where 
dreams  came  true  —  a  beautiful  land  where  no  one 
ate  prunes,  where  the  gravy  was  never  greasy  and 
the  potatoes  never  burned.  It  was  a  land  of  flow 
ers  and  birds  and  lovely  people  —  a  land  of  wealth 
and  health  and  many  smiles. 

Her  imagination  made  use  of  it  all.  She  knew  how 
men  were  reclaiming  the  desert  of  Idaho,  of  the  tre 
mendous  undeveloped  wealth  of  what  had  been  an  al- 


162  LIFTED  MASKS 

most  undiscovered  State.  She  thrilled  to  the  poetry 
of  irrigation.  Often  when  hot  and  tired  and  dusty 
her  fancy  would  follow  the  little  mountain  stream 
from  its  birth  way  up  in  the  clouds,  her  imagina 
tion  rushing  with  it  through  sweetening  forest  and 
tumbling  with  it  down  cooling  rocks  until  finally 
strong,  bold,  wise  men  guided  it  to  the  desert  which 
had  yearned  for  it  through  all  the  years,  and  the 
grateful  desert  smiled  rich  smiles  of  grain  and  flow 
ers.  She  could  make  it  more  like  a  story  than  any 
story  in  any  book.  And  she  could  always  breathe 
better  in  thinking  of  the  pine  forests  of  Oregon. 
There  was  something  liberating  —  expanding  • — 
in  just  the  thought  of  them.  She  dreamed  cooling 
dreams  about  them,  dreams  of  their  reaching  farther 
than  one's  fancy  could  reach,  big  widening  dreams 
of  their  standing  there  serene  in  the  consciousness 
of  their  own  immensity.  They  stood  to  her  for  a 
beautiful  idea :  the  idea  of  space,  of  room  — 
room  for  everybody,  and  then  much  more  room! 
Even  one's  understanding  grew  big  as  one  turned 
to  them. 

And  she  loved  to  listen  for  the  Pacific  Ocean,  com 
ing  from  incomprehensible  distances  and  unknowable 
countries,  now  rushing  with  passion  to  the  wild 
coast  of  Oregon,  again  stealing  into  the  Washing 
ton  harbours.  She  loved  to  address  the  letters  to 
Portland,  Seattle,  Spokane,  Tacoma  — all  those 
pulsing,  vivid  cities  of  a  country  of  big  chances  and 


"  OUT  THERE  "  163 

big  beauty.  She  loved  to  picture  Seattle,  a  city 
builded  upon  many  hills  —  how  wonderful  that  a 
city  should  be  builded  upon  hills !  —  in  Chicago 
there  was  nothing  that  could  possibly  be  thought  of 
as  a  hill.  And  she  loved  to  shut  her  eyes  and  let  the 
great  mountain  peak  grow  in  the  distance,  as  one 
could  see  it  from  Portland  —  how  noble  a  thing  to 
see  a  mountain  peak  from  a  city!  Sometimes  she 
trembled  before  that  consciousness  of  a  mountain. 
Often  when  so  tired  she  scarcely  knew  what  she  was 
doing  she  found  she  was  saying  her  prayers  to  a 
mountain.  Indeed,  Out  There  seemed  the  place  to 
send  one's  prayers  —  for  was  it  not  a  place  where 
prayers  were  answered? 

During  that  summer  when  the  West  was  overrun 
with  tourists  who  grumbled  about  everything  from 
the  crowded  trains  to  the  way  in  which  sea-foods 
were  served,  this  little  girl  sat  in  one  of  the  hot  of 
fice  buildings  of  Chicago  and  across  the  stretch  of 
miles  drew  to  herself  the  spirit  of  that  country  of 
coming  days.  Thousands  rode  in  Pullman  cars 
along  the  banks  of  the  Columbia  —  saw,  and  felt 
not ;  she  sat  before  her  typewriter  in  a  close,  noisy 
room  and  heard  the  cooling  rush  of  waters  and  got 
the  freeing  message  of  the  pines.  In  some  rare  mo 
ments  when  she  rose  from  the  things  about  her  to  the 
things  of  which  she  dreamed  she  possessed  the  whole 
great  land,  and  as  the  sultry  days  sapped  of  her 
meagre  strength,  and  the  bending  over  the  typewriter 


164*  LIFTED  MASKS 

cramped  an  already  too  cramped  chest  she  clung 
with  a  more  and  more  passionate  tenacity  to  the 
bigness  and  the  beauty  and  Tightness  of  things  Out 
There.  And  it  was  so  kind  to  her  —  that  land  of 
deep  breaths  and  restoring  breezes.  It  never  shut 
her  out.  It  always  kept  itself  bigger  and  more  won 
derful  than  one  could  ever  hope  to  fancy  it. 

And  the  night  she  found  the  picture  she  knew 
that  it  was  all  really  so.  That  was  why  it  was  so 
momentous  a  night.  The  picture  was  a  dream 
visualised  —  a  dreamer  vindicated.  They  had  pic 
tures  in  the  office,  of  course  —  some  pictures  trying 
to  tell  of  that  very  kind  of  a  place.  But  those  were 
just  pictures;  this  proved  it,  told  what  it  meant. 
It  told  that  she  had  been  right,  and  there  was 
joy  in  knowing  that  she  had  known.  She  clung 
to  the  picture  as  one  would  to  that  which  proves 
as  real  all  one  has  long  held  dear,  loved  it  as  the 
dreamer  loves  that  which  secures  him  in  his  dream 
ing. 

She  came  to  think  of  it  as  her  own  abiding  place. 
Often  when  too  tired  for  long  wings  of  fancy  she 
would  just  sink  down  in  the  deep,  cool  shadows  of 
the  pines,  beside  the  little  river  which  one  knew  so 
well  was  the  gift  of  distant  snows.  It  rested  her 
most  of  all ;  it  quieted  her. 

She  smiled  sometimes  to  think  how  no  one  in  the 
office  knew  about  it,  wondered  what  they  would 
think  if  they  knew.  Often  she  would  find  someone 


"  OUT  THERE  "  165 

in  the  office  looking  at  her  strangely.     She  used  to 
wonder  about  it  a  little. 

And  then  one  day  Mr.  Osborne  sent  for  her  to 
come  into  his  office.  He  acted  so  queerly.  As  she 
came  in  and  sat  down  near  his  desk  he  swung  his 
chair  around  and  sat  there  with  his  back  to  her. 
After  that  he  got  up  and  walked  to  the  window. 

The  head  stenographer  had  complained  of  her 
cough.  She  said  she  did  not  think  it  right  either  to 
the  girl  or  to  the  rest  of  them  for  her  to  be  there. 
She  said  she  hated  to  speak  of  it,  but  could  not  stand 
it  any  longer.  That  had  been  the  week  before, 
and  ever  since  he  had  been  putting  it  off.  But  now 
he  could  put  it  off  no  longer ;  the  head  stenographer 
was  valuable,  and  besides  he  knew  that  she  was 
right. 

And  so  he  told  her  —  this  was  all  he  could  think 
of  just  then  —  that  they  were  contemplating  some 
changes  in  the  office,  and  for  a  time  wrould  have  less 
desk  room.  If  he  sent  her  machine  to  her  home, 
would  she  be  willing  to  do  her  work  there  for  a  while  ? 
Hers  was  the  kind  of  work  that  could  be  done  at 
home. 

She  was  sorry,  for  she  wondered  if  she  could  find 
a  place  in  her  room  for  the  typewriter,  and  it  did 
not  seem  there  would  be  air  enough  there  to  last  her 
all  day  long.  And  she  had  grown  fond  of  the  of 
fice,  with  its  "  literature  "  and  pictures  and  maps 
and  the  men  who  had  just  come  from  Out  There 


166  LIFTED  MASKS 

coming  in  every  once  in  a  while.  It  was  a  bond  — 
a  place  to  touch  realities.  But  of  course  there  was 
nothing  for  her  to  do  but  comply,  and  she  made  no 
comment  on  the  arrangement. 

She  pushed  her  chair  back  and  rose  to  go.  "  Are 
you  alone  in  the  world?  "  he  asked  abruptly  then. 

"Yes;  I  — oh  yes." 

It  was  too  much  for  him.  "  How  would  you  like," 
he  asked  recklessly,  "  to  have  me  get  you  transpor 
tation  out  West?  " 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair.  Every  particle  of 
colour  had  left  her  face.  Her  deep  eyes  had  grown 
almost  wild.  "  Oh,"  she  gasped  — "  you  can't  mean 

—  you  don't  think  — " 

"  You  wouldn't  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  mean  " —  it  was  but  a  whisper  — "  it  would  be 

—  too  wonderful." 

"You  would  like  it  then?" 

She  only  nodded;  but  her  lips  were  parted,  her 
eyes  glowing.  He  wondered  why  he  had  never  seen 
before  how  different  looking  and  —  yes,  beautiful, 
in  a  strange  kind  of  way  —  she  was. 

"  I  see  you  have  a  cold,"  he  said,  "  and  I  think 
you  would  get  along  better  out  there.  I'll  see  if  I 
can  fix  up  the  transportation,  and  get  something 
with  our  people  in  one  of  the  towns  that  would  be 
good  for  you." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  sat  there  smil 
ing  at  him.  Something  in  the  smile  made  him  say, 


"  OUT  THERE  "  167 

abruptly :  "  That's  all ;  you  may  go  now,  and  I'll 
send  a  boy  with  your  machine." 

She  walked  through  the  streets  as  one  who  had  al 
ready  found  another  country.  More  than  one  turned 
to  look  at  her.  She  reached  her  room  at  last  and 
pulling  her  one  little  chair  up  to  the  window  sat 
staring  out  across  the  alley  at  the  brick  wall  across 
from  her.  But  she  was  not  seeing  a  narrow  alley 
and  a  high  brick  wall.  She  was  seeing  rushing  rivers 
and  mighty  forests  and  towering  peaks.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  —  an  indulgence  less  luxurious  than 
it  sounds,  as  the  chair  only  reached  the  middle 
of  her  back  —  and  looked  out  at  the  high  brick  wall 
and  saw  a  snow-clad  range  of  hills.  But  she  was 
tired;  this  tremendous  idea  was  too  much  for  her; 
the  very  wonder  of  it  was  exhausting.  She  lay  down 
on  her  bed  —  radiant,  but  languid.  Soon  she  heard 
a  rush  of  waters.  At  first  it  was  only  someone  fill 
ing  the  bath-tub,  but  after  a  while  it  was  the  little 
stream  which  flowed  through  her  forest.  And  then 
she  was  not  lying  on  a  lumpy  bed;  she  was  sinking 
down  under  pine  trees  —  all  so  sweet  and  still  and 
cool.  But  an  awful  thing  was  happening!  —  the 
forest  was  on  fire  —  it  was  choking  and  burning  her ! 
She  awoke  to  find  smoke  from  the  building  opposite 
pouring  into  her  room ;  flies  were  buzzing  about,  and 
her  face  and  hands  were  hot. 

She  did  little  work  in  the  next  few  days.  It  was 
hard  to  go  on  with  the  same  work  when  waiting  for 


168  LIFTED  MASKS 

a  thing  which  was  to  make  over  one's  whole  life. 
The  stress  of  dreams  changing  to  hopes  caused  a 
great  languor  to  come  over  her.  And  her  chair  was 
not  right  for  her  typewriter,  and  the  smoke  came 
in  all  the  time.  Strangely  enough  Out  There  seemed 
farther  away.  Sometimes  she  could  not  go  there 
at  all;  she  supposed  it  was  because  she  was  really 
going. 

At  the  close  of  the  week  she  went  to  the  office  with 
her  work.  She  was  weak  with  excitement  as  she 
stepped  into  the  elevator.  Would  Mr.  Osborne  have 
the  transportation  for  her?  Would  he  tell  her  when 
she  was  to  go? 

But  she  did  not  see  Mr.  Osborne  at  all.  When 
she  asked  for  him  the  clerk  just  replied  carelessly 
that  he  was  not  there.  She  was  going  to  ask  if  he 
had  left  any  message  for  her,  but  the  telephone 
rang  then  and  the  man  to  whom  she  was  talking 
turned  away.  Someone  was  sitting  at  her  old  desk, 
and  they  did  not  seem  to  be  making  the  changes  they 
had  contemplated ;  everyone  in  the  office  seemed  very 
busy  and  uncaring,  and  because  she  knew  her  chin 
was  trembling  she  turned  away. 

She  had  a  strange  feeling  as  she  left  the  office:  as 
if  standing  on  ground  which  quivered,  an  impulse  to 
reach  out  her  hand  and  tell  someone  that  something 
must  be  done  right  away,  a  dreadful  fear  that  she 
was  going  to  cry  out  that  she  could  not  wait  much 
longer. 

All  at  once  she  found  that  she  was  crossing  the 


"  OUT  THERE  "  169 

street,  and  saw  ahead  the  little  art  store  with  the 
wonderful  picture  which  proved  it  was  all  really  so. 
In  the  same  old  way,  her  step  quickened.  It  would 
show  her  again  that  it  was  all  just  as  she  had  thought 
it  was,  and  if  that  were  true,  then  it  must  be  true 
also  that  Mr.  Osborne  was  going  to  get  her  the  trans 
portation.  It  would  prove  that  everything  was  all 
right. 

But  a  cruel  thing  happened.  It  failed  her.  It 
was  just  as  beautiful  —  but  something  a  long  way 
off,  impossible  to  reach.  Try  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  get  into  it,  as  she  used  to.  It  was  only  a 
picture ;  a  beautiful  picture  of  some  pine  trees.  And 
they  were  very  far  away,  and  they  had  nothing  at 
all  to  do  with  her. 

Through  the  window,  at  the  back  of  the  store, 
she  saw  the  old  man  standing  with  his  back  to  her. 
She  thought  of  going  in  and  asking  to  sit  down  — 
she  wanted  to  sit  down  —  but  perhaps  he  would  say 
something  cross  to  her  —  he  was  such  a  queer  look 
ing  old  man  —  and  she  knew  she  would  cry 
if  anything  cross  was  said  to  her.  That  he 
had  watched  for  her  each  night,  that  he  had 
tried  and  tried  to  think  of  a  way  of  finding  her,  that 
he  would  have  been  more  glad  to  see  her  than  to 
see  anyone  in  the  world,  would  have  been  kinder  to 
her  than  anyone  on  earth  would  have  been  —  those 
were  the  things  she  did  not  know.  And  so  —  more 
lonely  than  she  had  ever  been  before  —  she  turned 
away. 


170  LIFTED  MASKS 

On  Monday  she  felt  she  could  wait  no  longer.  It 
did  not  seem  that  it  would  be  safe.  She  got  ready 
to  go  to  see  Mr.  Osborne,  but  the  getting  ready  tired 
her  so  that  she  sat  a  long  time  resting,  looking  out 
at  the  high  brick  wall  beyond  which  there  was 
nothing  at  all.  She  was  counting  the  blocks,  think 
ing  of  how  many  times  she  would  have  to  cross  the 
street.  But  just  then  it  occurred  to  her  that  she 
could  telephone. 

When  she  came  back  upstairs  she  crept  up  on  the 
bed  and  lay  there  very  still.  The  boy  had  said  that 
Mr.  Osborne  was  away  and  would  be  gone  two 
weeks.  No  one  in  the  office  had  heard  him  say  any 
thing  about  her  transportation. 

All  through  the  day  she  lay  there,  and  what  she 
saw  before  her  was  a  narrow  alley  and  a  high  brick 
wall.  She  had  lost  her  mountains  and  her  forests 
and  her  rivers  and  her  lakes.  She  tried  to  go  out 
to  them  in  the  same  old  way  —  but  she  could  not  get 
beyond  the  high  brick  wall.  She  was  shut  in.  She 
tried  to  draw  them  to  her,  but  they  could  not  come 
across  the  wall.  It  shut  them  out.  She  tried  to 
pray  to  the  great  mountain  which  one  could  see 
from  Portland.  But  even  prayers  could  get  no  far 
ther  than  the  wall. 

Late  that  afternoon,  because  she  was  so  shut  in 
that  she  was  choking,  because  she  was  consumed 
with  the  idea  that  she  must  claim  her  country  now 
or  lose  it  forever,  she  got  up  and  started  for  the 


"  OUT  THERE  "  171 

picture.  It  was  a  long,  long  way  to  go,  and  dread 
ful  things  were  in  between  —  people  who  would  bump 
against  her,  hot,  uneven  streets,  horses  that  might 
run  over  her  —  but  she  must  make  the  journey. 
She  must  make  it  because  the  things  that  she  lived 
on  were  slipping  from  her  —  and  she  was  choking 

—  sinking  down  — ••  and  all  alone. 

Step  by  step,  never  knowing  just  how  her  foot 
was  going  to  make  the  next  step,  sick  with  the  fear 
that  people  were  going  to  run  into  her  —  the  streets 
going  up  and  down,  the  buildings  round  and  round, 
she  did  go ;  holding  to  the  window  casings  for  the 
last  few  steps  —  each  step  a  terrible  chasm  which 
she  was  never  sure  she  was  going  to  be  able  to  cross 

—  she  was  there  at  last.     And  in  the  window  as  she 
stood  there,   swayingly,  was  a  dark,  blurred  thing 
which  might  have  been  anything  at  all.     She  tried 
to  remember  why  she  had  come.     What  was  it  — ? 
And  then  she  was  sinking  down  into  an  abyss. 

That  the  hemorrhage  came  then,  that  the  old 
man  came  out  and  found  her  and  tenderly  took  her 
in,  that  he  had  her  taken  where  she  should  have  been 
taken  long  before,  that  the  doctors  said  it  was  too 
late,  and  that  soon  their  verdict  was  confirmed  — 
those  are  the  facts  which  would  seem  to  tell  the  rest 
of  the  story.  But  deep  down  beneath  facts  rests 
truth,  and  the  truth  is  that  this  is  a  story  with  the 
happiest  kind  of  a  happy  ending.  What  facts 
would  call  the  breeze  from  an  electric  fan  was  in 


172  LIFTED  MASKS 

truth  the  gracious  breath  of  the  pines.  And  when 
the  nurse  said  "  She's  going,"  she  was  indeed  going, 
but  to  a  land  of  great  spaces  and  benign  breezes,  a 
land  of  deep  shadows  and  rushing  waters.  For  a 
most  wondrous  thing  had  happened.  She  had  called 
to  the  mountain,  and  the  mountain  had  heard  her 
voice ;  and  because  it  was  so  mighty  and  so  everlast 
ing  it  drew  her  to  itself,  across  high  brick  walls  and 
past  millions  of  hurrying,  noisy  people  —  oh,  a 
most  triumphant  flight !  And  the  mountain  said  — 
"  I  give  you  this  whole  great  land.  It  is  yours  be 
cause  you  have  loved  it  so  well.  Hills  and  valleys 
and  rivers  and  forests  and  lakes  —  it  is  all  for  you." 
Yes,  the  nurse  was  quite  right;  she  was  going:  go 
ing  for  a  long  sweet  sleep  beneath  trees  of  many 
shadows,  beside  clear  waters  which  had  come  from 
distant  snows  —  really  going  "  Out  There." 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE 

THE  Governor  was  sitting  alone  in  his  private 
office  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand.  He 
was  devoutly  and  gloomily  wishing  that  some 
other  man  was  just  then  in  his  shoes.  The  Governor 
had  not  devoted  a  large  portion  of  his  life  to  nurs 
ing  a  desire  of  that  nature,  for  he  was  a  man  in  whose 
soul  the  flame  of  self-satisfaction  glowed  cheeringly ; 
but  just  now  there  were  reasons,  and  he  deemed  them 
ample,  for  deploring  that  he  had  been  made  chief 
executive  of  his  native  State. 

Had  he  chosen  to  take  you  into  his  confidence  — 
a  thing  the  Governor  would  assuredly  choose  not  to 
do  —  he  would  have  told  you  there  were  greater 
things  in  the  world  than  the  governorship  of  that 
State.  He  might  have  suggested  a  seat  in  the  Sen 
ate  of  the  United  States  as  one  of  those  things.  It 
was  of  the  United  States  Senate  his  Excellency  was 
thinking  as  he  sat  there  alone  moodily  deploring 
the  gubernatorial  shoes. 

The  senior  Senator  was  going  to  die.  He  differed 
therein  from  his  fellows  in  that  he  was  going  to  die 
soon,  almost  immediately.  He  had  reached  the  tot 
tering  years  even  at  the  time  of  his  reelection,  and 

173 


174  LIFTED  MASKS 

it  had  never  been  supposed  that  his  life  would  out 
stretch  his  term.  He  had  been  sent  back,  not  for 
another  six  years  of  service,  but  to  hold  out  the  leader 
of  the  Boxers,  as  they  called  themselves  —  the 
younger  and  unorthodox  element  of  the  party  in  the 
State,  an  element  growing  to  dangerous  propor 
tions.  It  was  only  by  returning  the  aged  Senator, 
whom  they  held  it  would  be  brutal  to  turn  down  after 
a  life  of  service  to  the  party,  that  the  "  machine  " 
won  the  memorable  fight  of  the  previous  winter. 

From  the  viewpoint  of  the  machine,  the  Governor 
was  the  senior  Senator's  logical  successor.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  heavy  inroads  of  the  Boxers,  his  Ex 
cellency  would  even  then  have  been  sitting  in 
the  Senate  Chamber  at  Washington.  It  had  not  been 
considered  safe  to  nominate  the  Governor.  Had 
his  supporters  conceded  that  the  time  was  at  hand 
for  a  change,  there  would  have  been  a  general  clam 
our  for  the  leader  of  the  Boxers  —  Huntington,  un 
deniably  the  popular  man  of  the  State.  And  so 
they  concocted  a  beautiful  sentiment  about  "  round 
ing  out  the  veteran's  career,"  and  letting  him  "  die 
with  his  boots  on  " ;  and  through  the  omnipotence  of 
sentiment,  they  won. 

Down  in  his  heart  the  venerable  Senator  was  not 
seeking  to  die  with  his  boots  on.  He  would  have 
preferred  sitting  in  a  large  chair  before  the  fire  and 
reading  quietly  of  what  other  men  were  doing  in  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States.  But  they  told  him  he 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        175 

must  sacrifice  that  wish,  for  if  he  retired  he  would 
be  succeeded  by  a  dangerous  man.  And  the  old 
man,  believing  them,  had  gone  dutifully  back  into 
the  arena. 

Now  it  seemed  that  a  power  outside  man's  control 
was  declaring  against  the  well-laid  plans  of  the  ma 
chine.  As  the  machine  saw  things,  the  time  was  not 
ripe  for  the  senior  Senator  to  die.  He  had  just  en 
tered  upon  his  new  term,  and  the  Governor  himself 
had  but  lately  stepped  into  a  second  term.  They 
had  assumed  that  the  Senator  would  live  on  for  at 
least  two  years,  but  now  they  heard  that  he  was 
likely  to  die  almost  at  once.  His  Excellency  could 
not  very  well  name  himself  for  the  vacancy,  and  it 
seemed  dangerous  just  then  to  risk  a  call  of  the  As 
sembly.  They  dared  not  let  the  Governor  appoint 
a  weaker  man,  even  if  he  would  consent  to  do  so, 
for  they  would  need  the  best  they  had  to  put  up 
against  the  leader  of  the  Boxers.  With  the  Gov 
ernor,  they  believed  they  could  win,  but  the  question 
of  appointing  him  had  suddenly  become  a  knotty 
one. 

The  Governor  himself  was  bowed  with  chagrin. 
He  saw  now  that  he  had  erred  in  taking  a  second 
term,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  enjoy  reviewing 
his  mistakes.  As  he  sat  there  reading  and  reread 
ing  the  letter  which  told  him  that  the  work  of  the 
senior  Senator  was  almost  done,  he  said  to  himself 
that  it  was  easy  enough  to  wrestle  with  men,  but  a 


176  LIFTED  MASKS 

harder  thing  to  try  one's  mettle  with  fate.  He  spent 
a  gloomy  and  unprofitable  day. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  a  telegram  reached  the  ex 
ecutive  office.  Styles  was  coming  to  town  that 
night,  and  wanted  to  see  the  Governor  at  the  hotel. 
Things  always  cleared  when  Styles  came  to  town; 
and  so,  though  still  unable  to  foresee  the  outcome, 
he  brightened  at  once. 

Styles  was  a  railroad  man,  and  rich.  People  to 
whom  certain  things  were  a  sealed  book  said  that  it 
was  nice  of  Mr.  Styles  to  take  an  interest  in  poli 
tics  when  he  had  so  many  other  things  on  his  mind, 
and  that  he  must  be  a  very  public-spirited  man. 
That  he  took  an  interest  in  politics,  no  one  familiar 
with  the  affairs  of  the  State  would  deny.  The  or 
thodox  papers  painted  him  as  a  public  benefactor, 
but  the  Boxers  arrayed  him  with  hoofs  and 
horns. 

The  Governor  and  Mr.  Styles  were  warm  friends. 
It  was  said  that  their  friendship  dated  from  mere 
boyhood,  and  that  the  way  the  two  men  had  held  to 
gether  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  life  was  touch 
ing  and  beautiful  —  at  least,  so  some  people  ob 
served.  There  were  others  whose  eyebrows  went  up 
when  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Styles  were  mentioned 
in  their  Damon  and  Pythias  capacity. 

That  night,  in  the  public  benefactor's  room  at  the 
hotel,  the  Governor  and  his  old  friend  had  a  long 
talk.  When  twelve  o'clock  came  they  were  still  talk- 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        177 

ing;  more  than  that,  the  Governor  was  excitedly 
pacing  the  floor. 

"I  tell  you,  Styles,"  he  expostulated,  "I  don't 
like  it !  It  doesn't  put  me  in  a  good  light.  It's  too 
apparent,  and  I'll  suffer  for  it,  sure  as  fate.  Mark 
my  words,  we'll  all  suffer  for  it !  " 

Mr.  Styles  was  sitting  in  an  easy  attitude  before 
the  table.  The  public  benefactor  never  paced  the 
floor ;  it  did  not  seem  necessary.  He  smoked  in 
silence  for  a  minute;  then  raised  himself  a  little  in 
his  chair. 

"  Well,  have  you  anything  better  to  offer?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  replied  the  Governor,  tartly ; 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  you  ought  to  have." 

Styles  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  for  several 
minutes  more  devoted  himself  to  the  art  of  smoking. 
There  were  times  when  this  philanthropic  dabbler  in 
politics  was  irritating. 

"  I  think,"  he  began  presently,  "  that  you  exag 
gerate  the  unpleasant  features  of  the  situation.  It 
will  cause  talk,  of  course;  but  isn't  it  worth  it? 
You  say  it's  unheard  of;  maybe,  but  so  is  the  situa 
tion,  and  wasn't  there  something  in  the  copy-books 
about  meeting  new  situations  with  new  methods?  If 
you  have  anything  better  to  offer,  produce  it ;  if 
not,  we've  got  to  go  ahead  with  this.  And  really,  I 
don't  see  that  it's  so  bad.  You  have  to  go  South 
to  look  after  your  cotton  plantation;  you  find  now 
that  it's  going  to  take  more  time  than  you  feel  you 


178  LIFTED  MASKS 

should  take  from  the  State ;  you  can't  afford  to  give 
it  up ;  consequently,  you  withdraw  in  favor  of  the 
Lieutenant-Governor.  We  all  protest,  but  you  say 
Berriman  is  a  good  man,  and  the  State  won't  suffer, 
and  you  simply  can't  afford  to  go  on.  Well,  we 
can  keep  the  Senator's  condition  pretty  quiet  here; 
and  after  all,  he's  sturdy,  and  may  live  on  to  the 
close  of  the  year.  After  due  deliberation  Berriman 
appoints  you.  A  little  talk?  —  Yes.  But  it's 
worth  a  little  talk.  It  seems  to  me  the  thing  works 
out  very  smoothly." 

When  Tom  Styles  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  de 
clared  a  thing  worked  out  very  smoothly,  that  thing 
was  quite  likely  to  go.  In  three  days  the  Governor 
went  South.  When  he  returned,  the  newspaper  men 
were  startled  by  the  announcement  that  business 
considerations  which  he  could  not  afford  to  over 
look  demanded  his  withdrawal  from  office.  Previ 
ous  to  this  time  the  Lieutenant-Governor  and  Mr. 
Styles  had  met  and  the  result  of  their  meeting  was 
not  made  a  matter  of  public  record. 

As  the  Governor  had  anticipated,  many  things 
were  said.  Inquiries  were  made  into  the  venerable 
Senator's  condition  —  which,  the  orthodox  papers 
declared,  was  but  another  example  of  the  indecency 
of  the  Boxer  journals.  The  Governor  went  to  his 
cotton  plantation.  The  Lieutenant-Governor  went 
into  office,  and  was  pronounced  a  worthy  successor 
to  a  good  executive.  The  venerable  Senator  contin- 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        179 

ued  to  live.  As  Mr.  Styles  had  predicted,  the  gos 
sip  soon  quieted  into  a  friendly  hope  that  the  Gov 
ernor  would  realise  large  sums  with  his  cotton. 

It  was  late  in  the  fall  when  the  senior  Senator 
finally  succumbed.  The  day  the  papers  printed  the 
story  of  his  death,  they  printed  speculative  editori 
als  on  his  probable  successor.  When  the  bereaved 
family  commented  with  bitterness  on  this  ill-con 
cealed  haste,  they  were  told  that  it  was  politics  — 
enterprise  —  life. 

The  old  man's  remains  lay  in  state  in  the  rotunda 
of  the  State  Capitol,  and  the  building  was  draped  in 
mourning.  Many  came  and  looked  upon  the  quiet 
face;  but  far  more  numerous  than  those  who  gath 
ered  at  his  bier  to  weep  were  those  who  assembled  in 
secluded  corners  to  speculate  on  the  wearing  of  his 
toga.  It  was  politics  —  enterprise  —  life. 

Mr.  Styles  told  the  Lieutenant-Governor  to  be  de 
liberate.  There  was  no  need  of  an  immediate  ap 
pointment,  he  said.  And  so  for  a  time  things  went 
on  about  the  State-house  much  as  usual,  save  that 
the  absorbing  topic  was  the  senatorial  situation,  and 
that  every  one  was  watching  the  new  chief  executive. 
The  retired  Governor  now  spent  part  of  his  time  in 
the  South,  and  part  at  home.  The  cotton  planta 
tion  was  not  demanding  all  his  attention,  after  all. 

It  could  not  be  claimed  that  John  Berriman  had 
ever  done  any  great  thing.  He  was  not  on  record 
as  having  ever  risen  grandly  to  an  occasion;  but 


180  LIFTED  MASKS 

there  may  have  been  something  in  the  fact  that  an 
occasion  admitting  of  a  grand  rising  had  never  pre 
sented  itself.  Before  he  became  Lieutenant-Gov 
ernor,  he  had  served  inoffensively  in  the  State  Sen 
ate  for  two  terms.  No  one  had  ever  worked  very 
hard  for  Senator  Berriman's  vote.  He  had  been 
put  in  by  the  machine,  and  it  had  always  been  as 
sumed  that  he  was  machine  property. 

Berriman  himself  had  never  given  the  matter  of 
his  place  in  the  human  drama  much  thought.  He 
had  an  idea  that  it  was  proper  for  him  to  vote  with 
his  friends,  and  he  always  did  it.  Had  he  been 
called  a  tool,  he  would  have  been  much  ruffled;  he 
merely  trusted  to  the  infallibility  of  the  party. 

The  Boxers  did  not  approach  him  now  concerning 
the  appointment  of  Huntington.  That,  of  course, 
was  a  fixed  matter,  and  they  were  not  young  and 
foolish  enough  to  attempt  to  change  it. 

One  day  the  Governor  received  a  telegram  from 
Styles  suggesting  that  he  "  adjust  that  matter"  im 
mediately.  He  thought  of  announcing  the  appoint 
ment  that  very  night,  but  the  newspaper  men  had 
all  left  the  building,  and  as  he  had  promised  that  they 
should  know  of  it  as  soon  as  it  was  made,  he  concluded 
to  wait  until  the  next  morning. 

Governor  Berriman  had  a  brother  in  town  that 
week,  attending  a  meeting  of  the  State  Agricultural 
Society.  Hiram  Berriman  had  a  large  farm  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  State.  He  knew  but  little  of 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        181 

political  methods,  and  had  primitive  ideas  about  hon 
esty.  There  had  always  been  a  strong  tie  between 
the  brothers,  despite  the  fact  that  Hiram  was  fifteen 
years  the  Governor's  senior.  They  talked  of  many 
things  that  night,  and  the  hour  was  growing  late. 
They  were  about  to  retire  when  the  Governor  re 
marked,  a  little  sleepily: 

"  Well,  to-morrow  morning  I  announce  the  sena 
torial  appointment." 

"You  do,  eh?"  returned  the  farmer. 

"  Yes,  there's  no  need  of  waiting  any  longer,  and 
it's  getting  on  to  the  time  the  State  wants  two  sena 
tors  in  Washington." 

"  Well,  I  suppose,  John,"  Hiram  said,  turning  a 
serious  face  to  his  brother,  "  that  you've  thought 
the  matter  all  over,  and  are  sure  you  are  right  ?  " 

The  Governor  threw  back  his  head  with  a  scoffing 
laugh. 

"  I  guess  it  didn't  require  much  thought  on  my 
part,"  he  answered  carelessly. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  figure  that  out,"  contended 
Hiram  warmly.  "  You're  Governor  of  the  State, 
and  your  own  boss,  ain't  you?" 

It  was  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  that  anyone  had 
squarely  confronted  John  Berriman  with  the  ques 
tion  whether  or  not  he  was  his  own  boss,  and  for  some 
reason  it  went  deep  into  his  soul,  and  rankled  there. 

"  Now  see  here,  Hiram,"  he  said  at  length,  "  there's 
no  use  of  your  putting  on  airs  and  pretending  you 


182  LIFTED  MASKS 

don't  understand  this  thing.  You  know  well  enough 
it  was  all  fixed  before  I  went  in."  The  other  man 
looked  at  him  in  bewilderment,  and  the  Governor  con 
tinued  brusquely :  "  The  party  knew  the  Senator 
was  going  to  die,  and  so  the  Governor  pulled  out  and 
I  went  in  just  so  the  thing  could  be  done  decently 
when  the  time  came." 

The  old  farmer  was  scratching  his  head. 

"  That's  it,  eh?  They  got  wind  the  Senator  was 
goin'  to  die,  and  so  the  Governor  told  that  lie  about 
having  to  go  South  just  so  he  could  step  into  the 
dead  man's  shoes,  eh?  " 

"  That's  the  situation  —  if  you  want  to  put  it  that 
way." 

"  And  now  you're  going  to  appoint  the  Gover 
nor?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am ;  I  couldn't  do  anything  else  if 
I  wanted  to." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why,  look  here,  Hiram,  haven't  you  any  idea  of 
political  obligation?  It's  expected  of  me." 

"  Oh,  it  is,  eh?  Did  you  promise  to  appoint  the 
Governor?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  that  I  exactly  made  any 
promises,  but  that  doesn't  make  a  particle  of  dif 
ference.  The  understanding  was  that  the  Governor 
was  to  pull  out  and  I  was  to  go  in  and  appoint  him. 
It's  a  matter  of  honour ;  "  and  Governor  Berriman 
drew  himself  up  with  pride. 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        183 

The  farmer  turned  a  troubled  face  to  the  fire. 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  he  said  finally,  "  that  you  all 
think  the  Governor  is  the  best  man  we  have  for  the 
United  States  Senate.  I  take  it  that  in  appointing 
him,  John,  you  feel  sure  he  will  guard  the  interests 
of  the  people  before  everything  else,  and  that  the 
people  —  I  mean  the  working  people  of  this  State 
—  will  always  be  safe  in  his  hands ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no,  Hiram !  "  exclaimed  the  Governor 
irritably.  "  I  don't  think  that  at  all !  " 

Hiram  Berriman's  brown  face  warmed  to  a  dull 
red. 

"  You  don't  ?  "  he  cried.  "  You  mean  to  sit  there, 
John  Berriman,  and  tell  me  that  you  don't  think  the 
man  you're  going  to  put  in  the  United  States  Senate 
will  be  an  honest  man?  What  do  you  mean  by  saying 
you're  going  to  put  a  dishonest  man  in  there  to  make 
laws  for  the  people,  to  watch  over  them  and  protect 
them?  If  you  don't  think  he's  a  good  man,  if  you 
don't  think  he's  the  best  man  the  State  has  " —  the 
old  farmer  was  pounding  the  table  heavily  with  his 
huge  fist  —  "  if  you  don't  think  that,  in  God's  name, 
why  do  you  appoint  him?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand,  Hiram," 
said  the  Governor  in  an  injured  voice,  "  that  it's  not 
for  me  to  say." 

"Why  ain't  it  for  you  to  say?  Why  ain't  it,  I 
want  to  know?  Who's  running  you,  your  own  con 
science  or  some  gang  of  men  that's  trying  to  steal 


184  LIFTED  MASKS 

from  the  State  ?  Good  God,  I  wish  I  had  never  lived 
to  see  the  day  a  brother  of  mine  put  a  thief  in  the 
United  States  Senate  to  bamboozle  the  honest,  hard 
working  people  of  this  State  1 " 

"  Hold  on,  please  —  that's  a  little  too  strong !  " 
flamed  the  Governor. 

"  It  ain't  too  strong.  If  a  Senator  ain't  an  honest 
man,  he's  a  thief;  and  if  he  ain't  lookin'  after  the 
welfare  of  the  people,  he's  bamboozlin'  them,  and 
that's  all  there  is  about  it.  I  don't  know  much  about 
politics,  but  I  ain't  lived  my  life  without  learning  a 
little  about  right  and  wrong,  and  it's  a  sorry  day 
we've  come  to,  John  Berriman,  if  right  and  wrong 
don't  enter  into  the  makin'  of  a  Senator !  " 

The  Governor  could  think  of  no  fitting  response, 
so  he  held  his  peace.  This  seemed  to  quiet  the  irate 
farmer,  and  he  surveyed  his  brother  intently,  and 
not  unkindly. 

"  You're  in  a  position  now,  John,"  he  said,  and 
there  was  a  kind  of  homely  eloquence  in  his  serious 
voice,  "  to  be  a  friend  to  the  people.  It  ain't  many 
of  us  ever  get  the  chance  of  doin'  a  great  thing.  We 
work  along,  and  we  do  the  best  we  can  with  what 
comes  our  way,  but  most  of  us  don't  get  the  chance 
to  do  a  thing  that's  goin'  to  help  thousands  of  peo 
ple,  and  that  the  whole  country's  goin'  to  say  was  a 
move  for  the  right.  You  want  to  think  of  that,  and 
when  you're  thinkin'  so  much  about  honour,  you 
don't  want  to  clean  forget  about  honesty.  Don't 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        185 

you  stick  to  any  foolish  notions  about  bein'  faithful 
to  the  party;  it  ain't  the  party  that  needs  helpin'. 
No  matter  how  you  got  where  you  are,  you're  Gover 
nor  of  the  State  right  now,  John,  and  your  first  duty 
is  to  the  people  of  this  State,  not  to  Tom  Styles  or 
anybody  else.  Just  you  remember  that  when  you're 
namin'  your  Senator  in  the  morning." 

It  was  long  before  the  Governor  retired.  He 
sat  there  by  the  fireplace  until  after  the  fire  had  died 
down,  and  he  was  too  absorbed  to  grow  cold.  He 
thought  of  many  things.  Like  the  man  who  had 
preceded  him  in  office,  he  wished  that  some  one  else 
was  just  then  encumbered  with  the  gubernatorial 
shoes. 

The  next  morning  there  was  a  heavy  feeling  in 
his  head  which  he  thought  a  walk  in  the  bracing  air 
might  dispel,  so  he  started  on  foot  for  the  State- 
house.  A  light  snow  was  on  the  ground,  and  there 
was  something  reassuring  in  the  crispness  of  the 
morning.  It  would  make  a  slave  feel  like  a  free  man 
to  drink  in  such  air,  he  was  thinking.  Snatches  of 
his  brother's  outburst  of  the  night  before  kept 
breaking  into  his  consciousness  but  curiously  enough 
they  did  not  greatly  disturb  him.  He  concluded 
that  it  was  wonderful  what  a  walk  in  the  bracing 
air  could  do.  From  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  looked 
up  at  the  State-house,  for  the  first  time  in  his  ex 
perience  seeing  and  thinking  about  it  —  not  sim 
ply  taking  it  for  granted.  There  seemed  a  nobility 


186  LIFTED  MASKS 

about  it  —  in  the  building  itself,  and  back  of  that, 
in  what  it  stood  for. 

As  he  walked  through  the  corridor  to  his  office 
he  was  greeted  with  cheerful,  respectful  salutations. 
His  mood  let  him  give  the  greetings  a  value  they  did 
not  have  and  from  that  rose  a  sense  of  having  the 
trust  and  goodwill  of  his  fellows. 

But  upon  reaching  his  desk  he  found  another  tele 
gram  from  Styles.  It  was  imperatively  worded  and 
as  he  read  it  the  briskness  and  satisfaction  went  from 
his  bearing.  He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
there  looking  down  at  the  city,  and,  as  it  had  been 
in  looking  ahead  at  the  State-house,  he  now  looked 
out  over  the  city  really  seeing  and  understanding 
it,  not  merely  taking  it  for  granted.  He  found  him 
self  wondering  if  many  of  the  people  in  that  city  — 
in  that  State  —  looked  to  their  Governor  with  the 
old-fashioned  trust  his  brother  had  shown.  His  eyes 
dimmed ;  he  was  thinking  of  the  satisfaction  it  would 
afford  his  children,  if  —  long  after  he  had  gone  — 
they  could  tell  how  a  great  chance  had  once  come 
into  their  father's  life,  and  how  he  had  proved  him 
self  a  man. 

"Will  you  sign  these  now,  Governor?"  asked  a 
voice  behind  him. 

It  was  his  secretary,  a  man  who  knew  the  affairs 
of  the  State  well,  and  whom  every  one  seemed  to  re 
spect. 

"  Mr.  Haines,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  who  do  you 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        187 

think  is  the  best  man  we  have  for  the  United  States 
Senate?" 

The  secretary  stepped  back,  dumfounded ;  amazed 
that  the  question  should  be  put  to  him,  startled  at 
that  strange  way  of  putting  it.  Then  he  told  him 
self  he  must  be  discreet.  Like  many  of  the  people 
at  the  State-house,  in  his  heart  Haines  was  a  Boxer. 

"  Why,  I  presume,"  he  ventured,  "  that  the  Gov 
ernor  is  looked  upon  as  the  logical  candidate,  isn't 
he?  " 

"  I'm  not  talking  about  logical  candidates.  I 
want  to  know  who  you  think  is  the  man  who  would 
most  conscientiously  and  creditably  represent  this 
State  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States." 

It  was  so  simply  spoken  that  the  secretary  found 
himself  answering  it  as  simply.  "  If  you  put  it 
that  way,  Governor,  Mr.  Huntington  is  the  man,  of 
course." 

"  You  think  most  of  the  people  feel  that  way?  " 

"  I  know  they  do." 

"  You  believe  if  it  were  a  matter  of  popular  vote, 
Huntington  would  be  the  new  Senator?  " 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,  Governor.  I 
think  they  all  have  to  admit  that.  Huntington  is 
the  man  the  people  want." 

"  That's  all,  Mr.  Haines.  I  merely  wondered 
what  you  thought  about  it." 

Soon  after  that  Governor  Berriman  rang  for  a 
messenger  boy  and  sent  a  telegram.  Then  he  settled 


188  LIFTED  MASKS 

quietly  down  to  routine  work.     It  was  about  eleven 
when  one  of  the  newspaper  men  came  in. 

"  Good-morning,  Governor,"  he  said  briskly ; 
"  how's  everything  to-day?  " 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Markham.  I  have  nothing  to 
tell  you  to-day,  except  that  I've  made  the  senatorial 
appointment." 

"  Oh,"  laughed  the  reporter  excitedly,  "  that's  all, 
is  it?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Governor,  smiling  too ; 
"that's  all!" 

The  reporter  looked  at  the  clock.  "  I'll  just  catch 
the  noon  edition,"  he  said,  "  if  I  telephone  right 
away." 

He  was  moving  to  the  other  room  when  the  Gov 
ernor  called  to  him. 

"  See  here,  it  seems  to  me  you're  a  strange  news 
paper  man ! " 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  I  tell  you  I've  made  a  senatorial  appoint 
ment  —  a  matter  of  some  slight  importance  —  and 
you  rush  off  never  asking  whom  I've  appointed." 

The  reporter  gave  a  forced  laugh.  He  wished  the 
Governor  would  not  detain  him  with  a  j  oke  now  when 
every  second  counted. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said,  with  strained  pleasant 
ness.  "  Well,  who's  the  man?  " 

The  Governor  raised  his  head.  "  Huntington," 
he  said  quietly,  and  resumed  his  work. 


THE  PREPOSTEROUS  MOTIVE        189 

"What?"  gasped  the  reporter.  "What?" 
Then  he  stopped  in  embarrassment,  as  if  ashamed  of 
being  so  easily  taken  in.  "  Guess  you're  trying  to 
jolly  me  a  little,  aren't  you,  Governor?  " 

"  Jolly  you,  Mr.  Markham  ?  I'm  not  given  to 
'jollying'  newspaper  reporters.  Here's  a  copy  of 
the  telegram  I  sent  this  morning,  if  you  are  still 
sceptical.  Really,  I  don't  see  why  you  think  it  so 
impossible.  Don't  you  consider  Mr.  Huntington  a 
fit  man  for  the  place?  " 

But  for  the  minute  the  reporter  seemed  unable  to 
speak.  "  May  I  ask,"  he  fumbled  at  last,  "  why  you 
did  it?" 

"  I  had  but  one  motive,  Mr.  Markham.  I  thought 
the  matter  over  and  it  seemed  to  me  the  people  should 
have  the  man  they  wanted.  I  am  with  them  in  believ 
ing  Huntington  the  best  man  for  the  place."  He 
said  it  simply,  and  went  quietly  back  to  his  work. 

For  many  a  long  day  politicians  and  papers  con 
tinued  the  search  for  "  the  motive."  Styles  and  his 
crowd  saw  it  as  a  simple  matter  of  selling  out ;  they 
knew,  of  course,  that  it  could  be  nothing  else.  After 
their  first  rage  had  subsided,  and  they  saw  there  was 
nothing  they  could  do,  they  wondered,  sneeringly, 
why  he  did  not  "  fix  up  a  better  story."  That  was 
a  little  too  simple-minded.  Did  he  think  people  were 
fools?  And  even  the  men  who  profited  by  the  situa 
tion  puzzled  their  brains  for  weeks  trying  to  under 
stand  it.  There  was  something  behind  it,  of  course. 


XI 

HIS  AMERICA 

HE  HATED  to  see  the  reporter  go.  With 
the  closing  of  that  door  it  seemed  certain 
^H^^  that  there  was  no  putting  it  off  any  longer. 

But  even  when  the  man's  footsteps  were  at  last 
sounding  on  the  stairway,  he  still  clung  to  him. 

"Father,"  he  asked,  fretfully,  "why  do  you  al 
ways  talk  to  those  fellows?  " 

Herman  Beckman  turned  in  his  chair  and  stared 
at  his  son.  Then  he  laughed.  "  Now,  that's  a  fine 
question  to  come  from  the  honour  man  of  a  law 
school!  I  hope,  Fritz,  that  your  oration  to-night 
is  going  to  have  a  little  more  sense  in  it  than  that." 

The  calling  up  of  his  oration  made  him  reach  out 
another  clutching  hand  to  the  vanished  reporter. 
"  But  it's  farcical,  father,  to  be  always  interviewed 
by  a  paper  nobody  reads." 

"Nobody  —  reads?" 

"  Why,  nobody  cares  anything  about  the  Leader. 
It's  dead." 

Herman  Beckman  looked  at  his  son  sharply; 
something  about  him  seemed  strange.  He  decided 
that  he  was  nervous  about  the  commencement  pro 
gramme.  Fritz  had  the  one  oration. 

190 


HIS  AMERICA  191 

The  boy  had  opened  the  drawer  of  his  study  table 
and  was  fingering  some  papers  he  had  taken  out. 

"  Sure  you  know  it  ?  "  the  man  asked  with  affec 
tionate  parental  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  I  know  it  all  right,"  Fred  answered  grimly, 
and  again  the  father  decided  that  he  was  nervous 
about  the  thing.  He  wasn't  just  like  himself. 

The  man  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  looking 
across  at  the  university  buildings.  Colleges  had  al 
ways  meant  much  to  Herman  Beckman.  The  very 
day  Fritz  was  born  he  determined  that  the  boy  was 
to  go  to  college.  It  was  good  to  witness  the  fulfil 
ment  of  his  dreams.  He  turned  his  glance  to  the 
comfortable  room. 

"  Pretty  decent  comfortable  sort  of  place,  isn't 
it,  father?"  Fred  asked,  following  his  father's  look 
and  thought  from  the  Morris  chair  to  the  student's 
lamp,  and  all  those  other  things  which  nowadays 
seem  an  inevitable  part  of  the  acquirement  of  learn 
ing- 
It  made  his  father  laugh.  "  Yes,  my  boy,  I  should 
call  it  decent  —  and  comfortable."  He  grew 
thoughtful  after  that. 

"  Pretty  different  from  the  place  you  had, 
father?" 

"Oh  —  me?  My  place  to  study  was  any  place  I 
could  find.  Sometimes  on  top  of  a  load  of  hay,  lots 
of  times  by  the  light  of  the  logs.  I've  studied  in 
some  funny  places,  Fritz." 


192  LIFTED  MASKS 

"  Well,  you  got  there,  father !  "  the  boy  burst  out 
with  feeling.  "  By  Jove,  there  aren't  many  of  them 
know  the  things  you  know ! " 

"  I  know  enough  to  know  what  I  don't  know," 
said  the  old  man,  a  little  sadly.  "  I  know  enough  to 
know  what  I  missed.  I  wanted  to  go  to  college. 
No  one  will  ever  know  how  I  wanted  to !  I  began  to 
think  I'd  never  feel  right  about  it.  But  I  have  a  no 
tion  that  when  I  sit  there  to-night  listening  to  you, 
Fritz,  knowing  that  you're  speaking  for  two  hundred 
boys,  half  of  whose  fathers  did  go  to  college,  I  think 
I'm  going  to  feel  better  about  it  then." 

The  boy  turned  away.  Something  in  the  kindly 
words  seemed  as  the  cut  of  a  whip  across  his  face. 

"  Well,  Fritz,"  his  father  continued,  getting  into 
his  coat,  "  I'll  be  going  downtown.  Leave  you  to 
put  on  an  extra  flourish  or  two."  He  laughed  in 
proud  parental  fashion.  "  Anyway,  I  have  some 
things  to  see  about." 

The  boy  stood  up.  "  Father,  I  have  something 
to  tell  you."  He  said  it  shortly  and  sharply. 

The  father  stood  there,  puzzled. 

"  You  won't  like  my  oration  to-night,  father." 

And  still  the  man  did  not  speak.  The  words  would 
not  have  bothered  him  much  —  it  was  the  boy's  man 
ner. 

"  In  fact,  father,  you're  going  to  be  desperately 
disappointed  in  it." 

The  dull  red  was  creeping  into  the  man's  cheeks. 


HIS  AMERICA  193 

He  was  one  to  have  little  patience  with  that  thing 
of  not  doing  one's  work.  "  Why  am  I  going  to  be 
disappointed?  This  is  no  time  to  shirk!  You 
should  — " 

"  Oh,  you'll  not  complain  of  the  time  and  thought 
I've  put  on  it,"  the  boy  broke  in  with  a  short,  hard 
laugh.  "  But,  you  see,  father  —  you  see  " —  his 
armour  had  slipped  from  him  —  "  it  doesn't  express 
—  your  views." 

"  Did  I  ever  say  I  wanted  you  to  express  '  my 
views'  ?  Did  I  bring  you  up  to  be  a  mouthpiece  of 
mine?  Haven't  I  told  you  to  think?"  But  with  a 
long,  sharp  glance  at  his  boy  anger  gave  way. 
"  Come,  boy  " —  going  over  and  patting  him  on  the 
back  — "  brace  up  now.  You're  acting  like  a  seven- 
year-old  girl  afraid  to  speak  her  first  piece,"  and  his 
big  laugh  rang  out,  eager  to  reassure. 

"  You  won't  see  it  1  You  won't  believe  it !  I 
don't  suppose  you'll  believe  it  when  you  hear  it ! " 
He  turned  away,  overwhelmed  by  a  sudden  realisa 
tion  of  just  how  difficult  was  the  thing  that  lay  be 
fore  him. 

The  man  started  toward  his  son,  but  instead  he 
walked  over  and  sat  down  at  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table,  waiting.  He  was  beginning  to  see  that 
there  was  something  in  this  which  he  did  not  under 
stand. 

At  last  the  boy  turned  to  him,  fighting  back  some 
things,  taking  on  other  things.  He  gazed  at  the 


194  LIFTED  MASKS 

care-worn,  rugged  face  —  face  of  a  worker  and  a 
dreamer,  reading  in  those  lines  the  story  of  that  life, 
seeing  more  clearly  than  he  had  ever  seen  before 
the  beauty  and  futility  of  it.  Here  was  the  idealist, 
the  man  who  would  give  his  whole  lifetime  to  a  dream 
he  had  dreamed.  He  loved  his  father  very  tenderly 
as  he  looked  at  him,  read  him,  then. 

"  Father,"  he  asked  quietly,  "  are  you  satisfied 
with  your  life  ?  " 

The  man  simply  stared  —  waiting,  seeking  his 
bearings. 

"  You  came  to  this  country  when  you  were  nine 
teen  years  old  —  didn't  you,  father?"  The  man 
nodded.  "  And  now  you're  —  it's  sixty-one,  isn't 
it?" 

Again  he  nodded. 

"  You've  been  in  America,  then,  forty-two  years. 
Father,  do  you  think  as  much  of  it  now  as  you  did 
forty-two  years  ago?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  the  man  said, 
searching  his  son's  quiet,  passionate  face.  "  I  can't 
make  you  out,  Fritz." 

"  My  favourite  story  as  a  kid,"  the  boy  went  on, 
"  was  to  hear  you  tell  of  how  you  felt  when  your  boat 
came  sailing  into  New  York  Harbour,  and  you  saw 
the  first  outlines  of  a  country  you  had  dreamed  about 
all  through  your  boyhood,  which  you  had  saved 
pennies  for,  worked  nights  for,  ever  since  you  were 
old  enough  to  know  the  meaning  of  America.  I 


HIS  AMERICA  195 

mean,"  he  corrected,  significantly,  "  the  meaning  of 
what  you  thought  was  America. 

"  It's  a  bully  story,  father,"  he  continued,  with  a 
smile  at  once  tender  and  hard ;  "  the  simple  German 
boy,  born  a  dreamer,  standing  there  looking  out  at 
the  dim  shores  of  that  land  he  had  idealised.  If  ever 
a  man  came  to  America  bringing  it  rich  gifts,  that 
man  was  you !  " 

"  Fritz,"  his  father's  voice  was  rendered  harsh  by 
mystification  and  foreboding,  "  tell  me  what  you're 
talking  about.  Come  to  the  point.  Clear  this  up." 

"  I'm  talking  about  American  politics  —  your 
party  —  having  ruined  your  life  !  I'm  talking  about 
working  like  a  slave  all  your  days  and  having  noth 
ing  but  a  mortgaged  farm  at  sixty-one!  I'm  talk 
ing  about  playing  a  losing  game  !  I'm  saying,  What's 
the  use?  Father,  I'm  telling  you  that  Tm  going  to 
join  the  other  party  and  make  some  money  1 " 

The  man  just  sat  there,  staring. 

"  Well,"  the  boy  took  it  up  defiantly,  "  why  not?  " 

And  then  he  moved,  laid  a  not  quite  steady  hand 
out  upon  the  table.  "  My  boy,  you're  not  well. 
You've  studied  too  hard.  Now  brace  yourself  up 
for  to-night,  and  then  we'll  go  down  home  and  fix 
you  up.  What  you  need,  Fritz,"  he  said,  trying  to 
laugh,  "  is  the  hayfield." 

"  You're  not  seeing  it !  "  The  boy  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  began  moving  about  the  room.  "  The 
only  way  I  can  brace  myself  up  for  to-night  is  to  get 


196  LIFTED  MASKS 

so  mad  —  father,  usually  you  see  things  so  easily ! 
Don't  you  understand?  It  was  my  chance,  my  one 
moment,  my  time  to  strike.  It  will  be  years  before  I 
get  such  a  hearing  again.  You  see,  father,  the  thing 
will  be  printed,  and  the  men  I  want  to  have  hear  it, 
the  men  who  own  Ms  State,  will  be  there.  One  of 
them  is  to  preside.  And  the  story  of  it,  the  worth  of 
it,  to  them,  is  that  I'm  your  son.  You  see,  after  all," 
he  seized  at  this  wildly,  "  I'm  getting  my  start  on  the 
fact  that  I'm  your  son." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  man ;  the  brown  of  his  wind- 
beaten  face  had  yielded  to  a  tinge  of  grey.  "  Just 
what  is  it  you  are  going  to  say?  " 

"  I  call  it  '  The  New  America,'  a  lot  of  this  talk 
about  doing  things,  the  glory  of  industrial  America, 
the  true  Americans  the  men  of  constructive  genius, 
the  patriotism  of  railroad  and  factory  building,  a 
eulogy  of  railroad  officials  and  corporation  presi 
dents,"  he  rushed  on  with  a  laugh.  "  Singing  the 
song  of  Capital.  Father,  can't  you  see  why?  " 

The  old  man  had  risen.  "  Tell  me  this,"  he  said. 
"  None  of  it  matters  much,  if  you  just  tell  me  this: 
You  believe  these  things?  You've  thought  it  all  out 
for  yourself  —  and  you  feel  that  way  ?  You're  hon 
est,  aren't  you,  Fritz?  "  He  put  that  last  in  a 
whisper. 

The  boy  made  no  reply;  after  a  minute  the  man 
sank  back  to  his  chair.  The  years  seemed  coming 
to  him  with  the  minutes. 


HIS  AMERICA  197 

Fred  was  leaning  against  the  wall.  "  Father,"  he 
said  at  last,  "  I  hope  you'll  let  me  be  a  little  round 
about.  It's  only  fair  to  me  to  let  me  ramble  on  a 
little.  I've  got  to  put  it  all  right  before  you  or  — 
or  —  You  know,  dad," —  he  came  back  to  his  place  by 
the  table,  "  the  first  thing  I  remember  very  clearly  is 
those  men,  your  party  managers,  coming  down  to 
the  farm  one  time  and  asking  you  to  run  for  Gov 
ernor.  How  many  times  is  it  you've  run  for  Gov 
ernor,  father?  "  He  put  the  question  slowly. 

"  Five,"  said  the  man  heavily. 

"  I  don't  know  which  time  this  was ;  but  you 
didn't  want  to.  You  were  sorry  when  you  saw 
them  coming.  I  heard  some  of  the  talk.  You  talked 
about  your  farm,  what  you  wanted  to  do  that  sum 
mer,  how  you  couldn't  afford  the  time  or  the  money. 
They  argued  that  you  owed  it  to  the  party  —  they 
always  got  you  there ;  how  no  other  man  could  hold 
down  majorities  as  you  could  —  a  man  like  you  giv 
ing  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  holding  down  majori 
ties  !  They  said  you  were  the  one  man  against  whom 
no  personal  attack  could  be  made.  And  when  there 
was  so  much  to  fight,  anyway  —  oh,  I  know  that 
speech  by  heart!  They've  made  great  capital  of 
your  honesty  and  your  clean  life.  In  fact,  they've 
held  that  up  as  a  curtain  behind  which  a  great  many 
things  could  go  on.  Oh,  you  didn't  know  about 
them;  you  were  out  in  front  of  the  curtain,  but  I 
haven't  lived  in  this  town  without  finding  out  that 


198  LIFTED  MASKS 

they  needed  your  integrity   and  your  clean  record 
pretty  bad ! 

"  That  was  out  on  the  side  porch.  Mother  had 
brought  out  some  buttermilk,  and  they  drank  it  while 
they  talked.  You  put  up  a  good  fight.  Your  time 
was  money  to  you  at  that  time  of  year;  a  man 
shouldn't  neglect  his  farm  —  but  you  never  yet  could 
hold  out  against  that  '  needing-you  '  kind  of  talk. 
They  knew  there  was  no  chance  for  your  election. 
You  knew  it.  But  it  takes  a  man  of  just  your  grit  to 
put  any  snap  into  a  hopeless  campaign. 

"  Mother  cried  when  you  went  to  drive  them  back 
to  town.  You  see,  I  remember  all  those  things. 
She  told  about  how  hard  you  would  work,  and  how 
it  would  do  no  good  —  that  the  State  belonged  to  the 
other  party.  She  talked  about  the  farm,  too,  and 
the  addition  she  had  wanted  for  the  house,  and  how 
now  she  wouldn't  have  it.  Mother  felt  pretty  bad 
that  night.  She's  gone  through  a  lot  of  those 
times." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  You  were  away  a  lot  that  summer,  and  all  fall. 
You  looked  pretty  well  used  up  when  you  came 
home,  but  you  said  that  you  had  held  down  majori 
ties  splendidly." 

Again  there  was  silence.  It  was  the  silences  that 
seemed  to  be  saying  the  most. 

"  You  had  one  term  in  Congress  —  that's  the  only 
thing  you  ever  had.  Then  you  did  so  much  that  they 


HIS  AMERICA  199 

concentrated  in  your  district  and  saw  to  it  that  you 
never  got  back.  Julius  Caesar  couldn't  have  been 
elected  again,"  he  laughed  harshly. 

"  Father,"  the  boy  went  on,  after  a  pause,  "  you 
asked  me  if  I  were  honest.  There  are  two  kinds  of 
honesty.  The  primitive  kind  —  like  yours  —  and 
then  the  kind  you  develop  for  yourself.  Do  I  be 
lieve  the  things  I'm  going  to  say  to-night?  No  — 
not  now.  But  I'll  believe  them  more  after  I've  heard 
the  applause  I'm  sure  to  get.  I'll  believe  them  still 
more  after  I've  had  my  first  case  thrown  to  me  by 
our  railroad  friends  who  own  this  State.  More  and 
more  after  I've  said  them  over  in  campaigning  next 
fall,  and  pretty  soon  I'll  be  so  sure  I  believe  them  that 
I  really  will  believe  them  —  and  that,"  he  concluded, 
flippantly,  "  is  the  new  brand  of  American  honesty. 
Why,  any  smart  man  can  persuade  himself  he's  not 
a  hypocrite !  " 

"  My  God!  "  it  wrenched  from  the  man.  "  This? 
If  you'd  stolen  money  —  killed  a  man  —  but  hypo 
crisy,  cant  —  the  very  thing  I've  fought  hardest, 
hated  most !  You  lived  all  your  life  with  me  to  learn 
this?  " 

"  I  lived  all  my  life  with  you  to  learn  what  pays, 
and  what  doesn't.  I  lived  all  my  life  with  you  to 
learn  from  failure  the  value  of  success." 

"  I  never  was  sure  I  was  a  failure  until  this  hour." 

"  Father  !     Can't  you  see  — " 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me !  "  cried  the  old  man,  rising, 


200  LIFTED  MASKS 

reaching  out  his  fist  as  though  he  would  strike  him. 
"  Son  of  mine  sitting  there  telling  me  he  is  fixing 
up  a  brand  of  honesty  for  himself !  " 

The  boy  grew  quieter  as  self-restraint  left  his 
father.  "  I  mean  that  —  just  that,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  Let  a  man  either  give  or  get.  If  he  gives, 
let  it  be  to  the  real  thing.  There  are  two  Ameri 
cas.  The  America  of  you  dreamers  —  and  then  the 
real  America.  Yours  is  an  idea  —  an  idea  quite  as 
much  as  an  ideal.  I  don't  think  you  have  the  slight 
est  comprehension  of  how  far  apart  it  is  from  the 
real  America.  The  people  who  dream  of  it  over  in 
Europe  are  a  great  deal  nearer  it  than  you  people 
who  work  for  it  here.  Father,  the  spirit  of  this 
country  flows  in  a  strong,  swift,  resistless  current. 
You  never  got  into  it  at  all.  Your  kind  of  idealists 
influence  it  about  as  much  —  about  as  much  as  red 
lights  burned  on  the  banks  of  the  great  river  would 
influence  the  current  of  that  river.  You're  not  of 
it.  You  came  here,  throbbing  with  the  love  for 
America ;  and  with  your  ideal  America  you've  fought 
the  real,  and  you've  worked  and  you've  believed  and 
you've  sacrificed.  Father,  what's  the  use?  In  this 
State,  anyway,  it's  hopeless.  It  has  been  so  through 
your  lifetime ;  it  will  be  through  mine." 

The  man  sat  looking  at  him.  He  felt  that  he 
should  say  something,  but  the  words  did  not  come  — 
held  back,  perhaps,  by  a  sense  of  their  uselessness. 
It  was  not  so  much  what  Fred  said  as  it  was  the 


HIS  AMERICA  201 

look  in  his  eyes  as  he  said  it.  There  was  nothing 
impetuous  or  youthful  about  that  look,  nothing  to 
be  laughed  at  or  argued  away.  He  had  always  felt 
that  Fred  had  a  mind  which  saw  things  straight, 
saw  them  in  their  right  relations,  and  at  that  moment 
he  had  no  words  to  plead  for  what  Fred  called  the 
America  of  the  dreamers. 

"  I'm  of  the  second  generation,  dad,"  the  boy  went 
on,  at  length,  "  and  the  second  generation  has  an 
ideal  of  its  own,  and  that  ideal  is  Success.  It  took 
us  these  forty  years  to  come  to  understand  the  spirit 
of  America.  You  were  a  dreamer  who  loved  Amer 
ica.  I'm  an  American.  We've  translated  democ 
racy  and  brotherhood  and  equality  into  en 
terprise  and  opportunity  and  success  —  and 
that's  getting  Americanised.  Now,  father,"  he 
sought  refuge  in  the  tone  of  every-day  things, 
"you'll  get  used  to  it  —  won't  you?  I  don't 
expect  you  to  feel  very  good  about  it,  but  you  aren't 
going  to  be  broken  up  about  it  —  are  you?  After 
all,  father,"  laughing  and  moving  about  as  if  to 
break  the  seriousness  of  things,  "  there's  nothing 
criminal  about  being  one  of  the  other  fellows  —  is 
there?  Just  remember  that  there  are  folks  who  even 
think  it's  respectable !  " 

The  father  had  risen  and  picked  up  his  hat.  "  No, 
Fjed,"  he  said,  with  a  sadness  in  which  there 
\*  is  great  dignity,  "  there  is  nothing  criminal  in  it  if 
p  man's  conviction  sends  him  that  way.  But  to  me 


LIFTED  MASKS 

there  is  something  —  something  too  sad  for  words 
in  a  man's  selling  his  own  soul." 

"  Father !  How  extravagant !  Why  is  it  selling 
one's  soul  to  sit  down  and  figure  out  what's  the  best 
thing  to  do?  "  He  hesitated,  hating  to  add  hurt  to 
hurt,  not  wanting  to  say  that  his  father's  fight 
should  have  been  with  the  revolutionists,  that  his  life 
was  ineffective  because,  seeing  his  dream  from  within 
a  dream,  his  thinking  had  been  muddled.  He  only 
said :  "  As  I  say,  father,  it's  a  question  of  giving  or 
getting.  I  couldn't  even  give  in  your  way.  And 
I've  seen  enough  of  giving  to  want  a  taste  of  getting. 
I  want  to  make  things  go  —  and  I  see  my  chance. 
Why  father,"  he  laughed,  trying  to  turn  it,  "  there's 
nothing  so  American  as  wanting  to  make  things 

go." 

He  looked  at  him  for  a  long  minute.  "  My  boy," 
he  said,  "  I  fear  you  are  becoming  so  American  that 
I  am  losing  you." 

"  Father,"  the  boy  pleaded,  affectionately,  "  now 
don't  — " 

The  old  man  held  up  his  hand.  "  You've  tried  to 
make  me  understand  it,"  he  said,  "  and  succeeded. 
You  can't  complain  of  the  way  you've  succeeded.  I 
don't  know  why  I  don't  argue  with  you  —  plead ; 
there  are  things  I  could  say  —  should  say,  perhaps 
—  but  something  assures  me  it  would  be  useless.  I 
feel  a  good  many  years  older  than  I  did  when  I  came 
into  this  room,  but  the  reason  for  it  is  not  that  you're 


HIS  AMERICA  203 

joining  the  other  party.  You  know  what  I  think  of 
the  men  who  control  this  State,  the  men  with  whom 
you  desire  to  cast  your  lot,  but  I  trust  the  years  I've 
spent  fighting  them  haven't  made  a  bigot  of  me. 
It's  not  j  oining  their  party  —  it's  using  it  —  makes 
this  the  hardest  thing  I've  been  called  upon  to  meet." 

"  Father,  don't  look  like  that !  How  do  you  think 
I  am  going  to  get  up  and  speak  to-night  with  that 
face  before  me  ?  " 

"  You  didn't  think,  did  you,"  the  man  laughed 
bitterly,  "  that  I  would  inspire  you  to  your  effort  ?  " 

The  boy  stood  looking  at  his  father,  a  strange 
new  fire  in  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  quietly,  tenderly,  "  you  will  in 
spire  me.  When  I  get  up  before  those  men  to-night 
I'm  going  to  see  the  picture  of  that  boy  straining  for 
his  first  glimpse  of  New  York  Harbour.  I'm  going 
to  think  for  just  a  minute  of  the  things  that  boy 
brought  with  him  —  things  he  has  never  lost.  And 
then  I'll  see  you  as  you  stand  here  now  —  it  will  be 
enough.  What  I  need  to  do  is  to  get  mad.  If  I 
falter  I'll  just  think  of  some  of  those  times  when  you 
came  home  from  your  campaigns  —  how  you  looked 
—  what  you  said.  It  will  bring  the  inspiration. 
Father,  I  figure  it  out  like  this.  We're  going  to  get 
it  back.  We're  going  to  get  what's  coming  to  us. 
There's  another  America  than  the  America  of  you 
dreamers.  To  yours  you  have  given ;  from  mine  I 
will  get.  And  the  irony  of  it  —  don't  think  I  don't 


204  LIFTED  MASKS 

see  the  irony  of  it  —  is  that  I  will  be  called  the  real 
American.  Do  you  know  what  I'm  going  to  do? 
I'm  going  to  make  the  railroads  of  this  State  —  oh,  it 
sounds  like  schoolboy  talk,  but  just  give  me  a  little 
time  —  I'm  going  to  make  the  railroads  of  this  State 
pay  off  every  cent  of  that  mortgage  on  your  farm ! 
Father,"  he  finished,  impetuously,  in  a  last  appeal, 
"  you're  broken  up  now,  disappointed,  but  would 
you  honestly  want  me  to  travel  the  road  you've  trav 
eled?" 

"  My  boy,"  answered  the  old  man,  and  the  tears 
came  with  it,  "  I  wanted  you  to  travel  the  road  of  an 
honest  man." 

Herman  Beckman  did  not  go  to  the  commence 
ment  exercises  that  night.  There  was  no  train  home 
until  morning,  so  he  had  the  night  to  spend  in  town. 
He  was  alone,  for  his  friends  assumed  that  he  would 
be  out  at  the  university.  But  he  preferred  being 
alone. 

He  sat  in  his  room  at  the  hotel,  reading.  And  he 
could  read.  Years  of  discipline  stood  him  in  good 
stead  now.  His  life  had  taught  him  to  read  any 
where,  at  any  time.  He  had  never  permitted  him 
self  the  luxury  of  not  being  "  in  the  mood."  It  was 
only  the  men  who  had  gone  to  college  who  could  do 
that.  He  had  to  read.  He  always  carried  some  lit 
tle  book  with  him,  for  how  did  a  man  know  that  he 
might  not  have  to  wait  an  hour  for  a  train  some 
where?  The  man  had  a  simple-minded  veneration 


HIS  AMERICA  205 

for  knowledge.  He  wanted  to  know  about  things. 
And  he  had  never  learned  to  pretend  that  he  didn't 
want  to  know.  He  quite  lacked  the  modern  art  of 
flippancy.  He  believed  in  great  books. 

And  so  on  the  night  that  his  son  was  being  gradu 
ated  from  college  he  sat  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  — 
cheap  room  in  a  mediocre  hotel;  he  had  never 
learned  to  feel  at  home  in  the  rich  ones  —  reading 
Marcus  Aurelius.  But  his  hand  as  he  turned  the 
pages  trembled  as  the  hand  of  a  very  old  man.  At 
midnight  some  reporters  came  in  to  ask  him  what  he 
thought  of  his  son's  oration.  They  wanted  a  state 
ment  from  him. 

He  told  them  that  he  had  never  believed  the  sins  of 
a  parent  should  be  visited  on  a  child,  and  that  it  was 
even  so  with  the  thought.  He  had  always  con 
tended  that  a  man  should  do  his  own  thinking.  The 
contention  applied  to  his  son. 

"  Gamey  old  brute  !  "  was  what  one  of  the  reporters 
said  in  the  elevator. 

He  could  not  read  Marcus  Aurelius  after  that. 
He  went  to  bed,  but  he  did  not  sleep.  Many  things 
passed  before  him.  His  anticipations,  his  dreams  for 
Fritz,  had  brought  the  warmest  pleasure  of  his  stern, 
unrelaxing  life.  There  was  a  great  emptiness  to 
night.  What  was  a  man  to  turn  to,  think  about, 
when  he  seemed  stripped,  not  only  of  the  future,  but 
of  the  past?  He  seemed  called  upon  to  readjust  the 
whole  of  his  life,  giving  up  that  which  he  had  held 


206  LIFTED  MASKS 

dearest.  What  was  left  ?  Daylight  found  him  turn 
ing  it  over  and  over. 

In  the  morning  he  went  home.  He  got  away 
without  seeing  any  of  his  friends. 

He  did  not  try  to  read  this  morning;  somehow  it 
seemed  there  was  no  use  in  trying  to  read  any  more. 
He  watched  the  country  through  which  they  were 
passing,  thinking  of  the  hundreds  of  times  he  had 
ridden  over  it  in  campaigning.  He  wondered, 
vaguely,  just  how  much  money  he  had  spent  on  rail 
road  fare  —  he  had  never  accepted  mileage.  Fred's 
"  What's  the  use  ?  "  kept  ringing  in  his  ears.  There 
was  something  about  that  phrase  which  made  one  feel 
very  tired  and  old.  It  even  seemed  there  was  no  use 
looking  out  to  see  how  the  crops  were  getting  on. 
What's  the  we?  >  What's  the  use?  ,,  Was  that  a 
phrase  one  learned  in  college? 

There  had  been  two  things  to  tell  "  mother  "  that 
night.  The  first  was  that  he  had  stopped  in  town 
and  told  Claus  Hansen  he  could  have  that  south 
hundred  and  sixty  he  had  been  wanting  for  two  years. 

It  was  not  easy  to  tell  the  woman  who  had  worked 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him  for  thirty  years,  the 
woman  who  during  those  years  had  risen  with  him 
in  the  early  morning  and  worked  with  him  until 
darkness  rescued  the  weary  bodies,  that  in  their  old 
age  they  must  surrender  the  fruit  of  their  toil.  They 
would  have  left  just  what  they  had  started  with. 
They  had  just  held  their  own. 


HIS  AMERICA  207 

Coming  down  on  the  train  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  that  if  Hansen  were  in  town  he  would  tell  him 
that  he  could  have  the  land.  He  felt  so  very  tired 
and  old,  so  bowed  down  with  Fred's  "  What's  the 
use?"  that  he  saw  that  he  himself  would  never  get 
the  mortgage  paid  off.  And  Fred  had  said  some 
thing  about  making  the  railroads  pay  it.  He  did  not 
know  just  how  the  boy  figured  that  out  —  indeed,  he 
was  getting  a  little  dazed  about  the  whole  thing  — 
but  if  Fritz  had  any  idea  of  having  the  railroads  pay 
off  the  mortgage  on  his  farm  —  he  couldn't  forget 
how  the  boy  looked  when  he  said  it,  face  white,  eyes 
burning  —  he  would  see  to  it  right  now  that  there  was 
no  chance  of  that. 

He  tried  not  to  look  at  the  land  as  he  drove  past  it 
on  the  way  home.  He  wondered  just  how  much  cam 
paign  literature  it  had  paid  for.  He  wondered  if  he 
would  ever  get  used  to  seeing  Claus  Hansen  putting 
up  his  hay  over  there  in  that  field. 

He  had  felt  so  badly  about  telling  mother  that  he 
told  it  very  bluntly.  And  because  he  felt  so  sorry 
for  her  he  said  not  one  kind  word,  but  just  sat  quiet, 
looking  the  other  way. 

She  was  clearing  off  the  table.  He  heard  her 
scraping  out  the  potato  dish  with  great  care.  Then 
she  was  coming  over  to  him.  She  came  awkwardly, 
hesitatingly  —  her  life  had  not  schooled  her  in  meet 
ing  emotional  moments  beautifully  —  but  she  laid 
her  hand  upon  him,  patted  him  on  the  shoulder  as 


308  LIFTED  MASKS 

one  would  a  child.  "  Never  mind,  papa  —  never  you 
mind.  It  will  make  it  easier  for  us.  There's  enough 
left  —  and  it  will  make  it  easier.  We're  getting  on 
—  we're — "  There  she  broke  off  abruptly  into  a 
vigorous  scolding  of  the  dog,  who  was  lifting  covet 
ous  nostrils  to  a  piece  of  meat. 

That  was  all.  And  there  was  no  woman  in  the 
country  had  worked  harder.  And  Martha  was  am 
bitious;  she  liked  land,  and  she  did  not  like  Glaus 
Hansen's  wife. 

Yes,  he  had  had  a  good  wife. 

Then  there  was  that  other  thing  to  tell  her  —  about 
Fritz.  That  was  harder. 

Mother  had  not  gone  up  to  the  city  to  hear  Fritz 
"  speak  "  because  her  feet  were  bothering  her,  and 
she  could  not  wear  her  shoes.  He  had  had  a  vague 
idea  of  how  disappointed  she  was,  though  she  had 
said  very  little  about  it.  Martha  never  had  been 
one  to  say  much  about  things.  When  he  came  back, 
of  course  she  had  wanted  to  know  all  about  it,  and  he 
had  put  her  off.  Now  he  had  to  tell  her. 

It  was  much  harder;  and  in  the  telling  of  it  he 
broke  down. 

This  time  she  did  not  come  over  and  pat  his  shoul 
der.  Perhaps  Martha  knew  —  likely  she  had  never 
heard  the  word  intuition,  but,  anyway,  she  knew  — 
that  it  was  beyond  that. 

It  seemed  difficult  for  her  to  comprehend.  She 
was  bewildered  to  find  that  Fritz  could  change  parties 


HIS  AMERICA  209 

all  in  a  minute.  She  seemed  to  grasp,  first  of  all, 
that  it  was  disrespectful  to  his  father.  Some  boys  at 
school  had  been  putting  notions  into  his  head. 

But  gradually  she  began  to  see  it.  Fritz  wanted 
to  make  money.  Fritz  wanted  to  have  it  easier. 
And  the  other  people  did  "  have  it  easier." 

It  divided  her  feeling:  sorry  and  indignant  for  the 
father,  secretly  glad  and  relieved  for  the  boy.  "  He 
will  have  it  easier  than  we  had  it,  papa,"  she  said 
at  the  last.  "  But  it  was  not  right  of  Fritz,"  she 
concluded,  vaguely  but  severely. 

As  she  washed  the  dishes  Martha  was  thinking 
that  likely  Fritz's  wife  would  have  a  hired  girl. 

Then  Martha  went  up  to  bed.  He  said  that  he 
would  come  in  a  few  minutes,  but  many  minutes  went 
by  while  he  sat  out  on  the  side  porch  trying  to  think 
it  out. 

The  moon  was  shining  brightly  down  on  that  hun 
dred  and  sixty  which  Claus  Hansen  was  to  have. 
And  the  moon,  too,  seemed  to  be  saying:  "What's 
the  use?" 

Well,  what  was  the  use?  Perhaps,  after  all,  the 
boy  was  right.  What  had  it  all  amounted  to? 
What  was  there  left?  What  had  he  done? 

Two  Americas,  Fred  had  said,  and  his  but  the 
America  of  the  dreamers.  He  had  always  thought 
that  he  was  fighting  for  the  real.  And  now  Fred 
said  that  he  had  never  become  an  American  at  all. 

From  the  time  he  was  twelve  years  old  he  had 


210  LIFTED  MASKS 

wanted  to  be  an  American.  A  queer  old  man  back 
in  the  German  village  —  an  old  man,  he  recalled 
strangely  now,  who  had  never  been  in  America  — 
told  him  about  it.  He  told  how  all  men  were  broth 
ers  in  America,  how  the  poor  and  the  rich  loved  each 
other  —  indeed,  how  there  were  no  poor  and  rich  at 
all,  but  the  same  chance  for  every  man  who  would 
work.  He  told  about  the  marvellous  resources  of 
that  distant  America  —  gold  in  the  earth,  which  men 
were  free  to  go  and  get,  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of 
miles  of  untouched  forests  and  great  rivers  —  all 
for  men  to  use,  great  cities  no  older  than  the  men 
who  were  in  them,  which  men  at  that  present  moment 
were  making  —  every  man  his  equal  chance.  He 
told  of  rich  land  which  a  man  could  have  for  noth 
ing,  which  would  be  Ills,  if  he  would  but  go  and  work 
upon  it.  In  the  heart  of  the  little  German  boy  there 
was  kindled  then  a  fire  which  the  years  had  never 
put  out.  His  cheeks  grew  red,  his  eyes  bright  and 
very  deep  as  he  listened  to  the  story.  He  went  home 
that  night  and  dreamed  of  going  to  America.  And 
through  the  years  of  his  boyhood,  penny  by  penny, 
he  saved  his  money  for  America.  It  was  his  dream. 
It  was  the  passion  of  his  life.  More  plainly  than 
the  events  of  yesterday,  he  remembered  his  first 
glimpse  of  those  wonderful  shores  —  the  lump  in  his 
throat,  the  passionate  excitement,  the  uplift.  Lean 
ing  over  the  railing  of  his  boat,  staring,  searching, 
penetrating,  worshipping,  he  lifted  up  his  heart  and 


HIS  AMERICA  211 

sent  out  his  pledge  of  allegiance  to  the  new  land. 
How  he  would  love  America,  work  for  it,  be  true 
to  it! 

He  had  three  dollars  and  sixty  cents  in  his  pocket 
when  he  stepped  upon  American  soil.  He  wondered 
if  any  man  had  ever  felt  richer.  For  had  he  not 
reached  the  land  where  there  was  an  equal  chance 
for  every  man  who  would  work,  where  men  loved  each 
other  as  brothers,  and  where  the  earth  itself  was  so 
rich  and  so  gracious  in  its  offerings? 

The  old  man  crossed  one  leg  over  the  other  — 
slowly,  stiffly.  It  made  him  tired  and  stiff  now  just 
to  think  of  the  work  he  had  done  between  that  day 
and  this. 

But  there  was  something  which  he  had  always  had 
—  that  something  was  his  America.  That  had 
never  wavered,  though  he  soon  learned  that  between 
it  and  realities  were  many  things  which  were  wrong 
and  unfortunate.  With  the  whole  force  and  passion 
of  his  nature,  with  all  his  single  mindedness  —  would 
some  call  it  simple  mindedness?  —  he  threw  himself 
into  the  fight  against  those  things  which  were  blur 
ring  men's  vision  of  his  America.  No  work,  no  sac 
rifice  was  too  great,  for  America  had  enemies  who 
called  themselves  friends,  men  who  were  striking 
heavy  blows  at  that  equal  chance  for  every  man. 
When  he  failed,  it  was  because  he  did  not  know 
enough;  he  must  work,  he  must  study,  he  must 
think,  in  order  to  make  more  real  to  other  men  the 


LIFTED  MASKS 

America  which  was  in  his  heart.  He  must  fight  for 
it  because  it  was  his. 

And  now  it  seemed  that  the  end  had  come ;  he  was 
old,  he  was  tired,  he  was  not  sure.  Claus  Hansen 
would  have  his  land  and  his  son  would  join  hands 
with  the  things  which  he  had  spent  his  life  in  fight 
ing.  And  far  deeper  and  sadder  and  more  bitter 
than  that,  he  had  not  transmitted  the  America  of 
his  heart  even  to  his  own  son.  He  was  not  leaving 
someone  to  fight  for  it  in  his  stead,  to  win  where  he 
had  failed.  Fred  saw  in  it  but  a  place  for  gain. 
"  I  lived  all  my  life  with  you  to  learn  from  failure 
the  value  of  success."  That  was  what  he  had  given 
to  his  boy.  Yes,  that  was  what  he  had  bequeathed 
to  America.  Could  the  failure,  the  futility  of  his 
life  be  more  clearly  revealed? 

Twice  Martha  had  called  to  him,  but  still  he  sat, 
smoking,  thinking.  There  was  much  to  think  about 
to-night. 

Finally,  it  was  not  thought,  but  visions.  Too 
tired  for  conscious  thinking,  he  gave  himself  up  to 
what  came  —  Fred's  America,  his  America,  the 
America  of  the  dreamers  —  and  the  things  which 
stood  between.  The  America  of  the  future — what 
would  that  America  be? 

At  the  last,  taking  form  from  many  things  which 
came  and  went,  shaping  itself  slowly,  form  giving 
place  to  new  form,  he  seemed  to  see  it  grow.  Out  be 
yond  that  land  Claus  Hansen  was  to  have,  a  long  way 


HIS  AMERICA  213 

off,  there  rose  the  vision  of  the  America  of  the  future 
—  an  America  of  realities,  and  yet  an  America  of 
dreams ;  for  the  dreamers  had  become  the  realists  — 
or  was  it  that  the  realists  had  become  dreamers?  In 
the  manifold  forms  taken  on  and  cast  aside  destroying 
dualism  had  made  way  for  the  strength  and  the  dig 
nity  and  harmony  of  unity.  He  watched  it  as  breath 
lessly,  as  yearningly,  as  the  nineteen-year-old  boy  had 
watched  the  other  America  taking  shape  in  the  dis 
tance  some  forty  years  before.  "  How  did  you 
come  ?  "  he  whispered.  "  What  are  you  ?  " 

And  the  voice  of  that  real  America  seemed  to  an 
swer  :  "  I  came  because  for  a  long-enough  time 
there  were  enough  men  who  held  me  in  their  hearts. 
I  came  because  there  were  men  who  never  gave  me 
up.  I  was  won  by  men  who  believed  that  they  had 
failed." 

Again  there  was  a  lump  in  his  throat  —  once 
more  an  exultation  flooded  all  his  being.  For 
to  the  old  man  —  tired,  stiff,  smitten  though  he 
had  been,  there  came  again  that  same  uplift  which 
long  before  had  come  to  the  boy.  Was  there  not 
here  an  answer  to  "What's  the  use?"  For  he 
would  leave  America  as  he  came  to  it  —  loving  it, 
believing  in  it.  What  were  the  work  and  the  fail 
ure  of  a  lifetime  when  there  was  something  in  his 
heart  which  was  his?  Should  he  say  that  he  had 
fought  in  vain  when  he  had  kept  it  for  himself? 
It  was  as  real,  as  wonderful  —  yes.  as  inevitable,  as 


LIFTED  MASKS 

it  had  been  forty  years  before.  Realities  had  taken 
his  land,  his  career,  his  hopes  for  the  boy.  But 
realities  had  not  stripped  him  of  his  dream.  The 
futility  of  the  years  could  not  harm  the  things 
which  were  in  his  heart.  Even  in  America  he  had 
not  lost  His  America. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  then  that  it  is  like  that,"  he  mur 
mured,  his  vision  carrying  him  back  to  the  days  of 
his  broken  English.  "  Perhaps  it  is  that  every 
man's  America  is  in  the  inside  of  his  own  heart. 
Perhaps  it  is  that  it  will  come  when  it  has  grown 
big  —  big  and  very  strong  —  in  the  hearts." 


XII 

THE  ANARCHIST:    HIS  DOG 

STUBBY  had  a  route,  and  that  was  how  he 
happened  to  get  a  dog.  For  the  benefit  of 
those  who  have  never  carried  papers  it 
should  be  thrown  in  that  having  a  route  means  get 
ting  up  just  when  there  is  really  some  fun  in  sleep 
ing,  lining  up  at  the  Leader  office  —  maybe  having 
a  scrap  with  the  fellow  who  says  you  took  his  place 
in  the  line  —  getting  your  papers  all  damp  from 
the  press  and  starting  for  the  outskirts  of  the  city. 
Then  you  double  up  the  paper  in  the  way  that  will 
cause  all  possible  difficulty  in  undoubling  and  hurl 
it  with  what  force  you  have  against  the  front  door. 
It  is  good  to  have  a  route,  for  you  at  least  earn 
your  salt,  so  your  father  can't  say  that  any  more. 
If  he  does,  you  know  it  isn't  so. 

When  you  have  a  route,  you  whistle.  All  the 
fellows  whistle.  They  may  not  feel  like  it,  but  it 
is  the  custom  —  as  could  be  sworn  to  by  many 
sleepy  citizens.  And  as  time  goes  on  you  succeed 
in  acquiring  the  easy  manner  of  a  brigand. 

Stubby  was  little  and  everything  about  him 
seemed  sawed  off  just  a  second  too  soon, —  his  nose, 
his  fingers,  and  most  of  all,  his  hair.  His  head  was 

215 


216  LIFTED  MASKS 

a  faithful  replica  of  a  chestnut  burr.  His  hair  did 
not  lie  down  and  take  things  easy.  It  stood  up  — 
and  out !  —  gentle  ladies  couldn't  possibly  have  let 
their  hands  sink  into  it  —  as  we  are  told  they  do  — 
for  the  hands  just  wouldn't  sink.  They'd  have  to 
float. 

And  alas,  gentle  ladies  didn't  particularly  want 
their  hands  to  sink  into  it.  There  was  not  that 
about  Stubby's  short  person  to  cause  the  hands  of 
gentle  ladies  to  move  instinctively  to  his  head. 
Stubby  bristled.  That  is,  he  appeared  to  bristle. 
Inwardly,  Stubby  yearned,  though  he  would  have 
swung  into  his  very  best  brigand  manner  on  the 
spot  were  you  to  suggest  so  offensive  a  thing.  Just 
to  look  at  Stubby  you'd  never  in  a  thousand  years 
guess  what  a  funny  feeling  he  had  sometimes  when 
he  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  where  his  route  began 
and  could  see  a  long  way  down  the  river  and  the 
town  curled  in  on  the  other  side.  Sometimes  when 
the  morning  sun  was  shining  through  a  mist  — 
making  things  awful  queer  —  some  of  the  mist  got 
into  Stubby's  squinty  little  eyes.  After  the  mist 
behaved  that  way  he  always  whistled  so  rakishly  and 
threw  his  papers  with  such  abandonment  that  peo 
ple  turned  over  in  their  beds  and  muttered  things 
about  having  that  little  heathen  of  a  paper  boy  shot. 

All  along  the  route  are  dogs.  Indeed,  routes  are 
distinguished  by  their  dogs.  Mean  routes  are  those 
that  have  terraces  and  mean  dogs ;  good  routes  — 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          217 

where  the  houses  are  close  together  and  the  dogs 
run  out  and  wag  their  tails.  Though  Stubby's 
greater  difficulty  came  through  the  wagging  tails ; 
he  carried  in  a  collie  neighbourhood,  and  all  collies 
seemed  consumed  with  mighty  ambitions  to  have 
routes.  If  you  spoke  to  them  —  and  how  could  you 
help  speaking  to  a  collie  when  he  came  bounding  out 
to  you  that  way?  —  you  had  an  awful  time  chasing 
him  back,  and  when  he  got  lost  —  and  it  seemed  col 
lies  spent  most  of  their  time  getting  lost  —  the 
woman  would  put  her  head  out  next  morning  and 
want  to  know  if  you  had  coaxed  her  dog  away ! 

Some  of  the  fellows  had  dogs  that  went  with  them 
on  their  routes.  One  day  one  of  them  asked  Stubby 
why  he  didn't  have  a  dog  and  he  replied  in  surly 
fashion  that  he  didn't  have  one  'cause  he  didn't  want 
one.  If  he  wanted  one,  he  guessed  he'd  have  one. 

And  there  was  no  one  within  ear-shot  old  enough 
or  wise  enough  —  or  tender  enough?  —  to  know 
from  the  meanness  of  Stubby's  tone,  and  by  his  evil 
scowl,  that  his  heart  was  just  breaking  to  own  a 
dog. 

One  day  a  new  dog  appeared  along  the  route. 
He  was  yellow,  and  looked  like  a  cheap  edition  of  a 
bull-dog.  He  was  that  kind  of  dog  most  accurately 
described  by  saying  it  is  hard  to  describe  him,  the 
kind  you  say  is  just  dog  —  and  everybody  knows. 

He  tried  to  follow  Stubby;  not  in  the  trusting, 
bounding  manner  of  the  collies  —  not  happily,  but 


218  LIFTED  MASKS 

hopingly.  Stubby,  true  to  the  ethics  of  his  profes 
sion,  chased  him  back  where  he  had  come  from.  That 
there  might  be  nothing  whatever  on  his  conscience, 
he  even  threw  a  stone  after  him.  Stubby  was  an  ex 
pert  in  throwing  things  at  dogs.  He  could  seem  to 
just  miss  them  and  yet  never  hit  them. 

The  next  day  it  happened  again;  but  just  as  he 
had  a  clod  poised  for  throwing,  a  window  went  up 
and  a  woman  called :  "  For  pity  sake,  little  boy,  don't 
chase  him  back  here" 

"Why  —  why,  ain't  he  yours?"   called  Stubby. 

"  Mercy,  no.     We  can't  chase  him  away." 

"Who's  is  he?  "  demanded  Stubby. 

"Why,  he's  nobody's!  He  just  hangs  around.  I 
wish  you'd  coax  him  away." 

Well,  that  was  a  new  one !  And  then  all  in  a  heap 
it  rushed  over  Stubby  that  this  dog  who  was  no 
body's  dog  could,  if  he  coaxed  him  away  —  and  the 
woman  wanted  him  coaxed  away  —  be  his  dog. 

And  because  that  idea  had  such  a  strange  effect 
on  him  he  sang  out,  in  off-hand  fashion :  "  Oh,  all 
right,  I'll  take  him  away  and  drown  him  for  you ! " 

"  Oh,  little  boy,"  called  the  woman,  "  why,  don't 
drown  him ! " 

"  Oh,  all  right,  I'll  shoot  him  then!  "  called  oblig 
ing  Stubby,  whistling  for  the  dog  —  while  all  morn 
ing  long  the  woman  grieved  over  having  sent  a  help 
less  little  dog  away  with  that  perfectly  brutal  paper 
boy! 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          219 

Stubby's  mother  was  washing.  She  looked  up  from 
her  tubs  on  the  back  porch  to  say,  "  Wish  you'd  take 
that  bucket  — "  then  seeing  what  was  slinking  behind 
her  son,  straightway  assumed  the  role  of  destiny  with, 
"  Git  out  o'  here !  " 

Stubby  snapped  his  fingers  behind  his  back  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Wait  a  minute." 

"  A  woman  gave  him  to  me,"  he  said  to  his  mother. 

"Gave  him  to  you?"  she  scoffed.  "I  sh'  think 
she  would !  " 

Then  something  happened  that  had  not  happened 
many  times  in  Stubby's  short  lifetime.  He  acknowl 
edged  his  feelings. 

"  I'd  like  to  keep  him.     I'd  like  to  have  a  dog." 

His  mother  shook  her  hands  and  the  flying  suds 
seemed  expressing  her  scorn.  "  Huh !  That  ugly 
good-for-nothing  thing?  " 

The  dog  had  edged  in  between  Stubby's  feet  and 
crouched  there.  "  He  could  go  with  me  on  my 
route,"  said  Stubby.  "  He'd  kind  of  be  company  for 
me." 

And  when  he  had  said  that  he  knew  all  at  once 
just  how  lonesome  he  had  been  sometimes  on  his 
route,  how  he  had  wanted  something  to  "  kind  of  be 
company  "  for  him. 

His  face  twitched  as  he  stooped  down  to  pat  the 
dog.  Mrs.  Lynch  looked  at  her  son  —  youngest  of 
her  five.  Not  the  hardness  of  her  heart  but  the  hard 
ness  of  her  life  had  made  her  unpractised  in  moments 


LIFTED  MASKS 

of  tenderness.  Something  in  the  way  Stubby  was 
patting  the  dog  suggested  to  her  that  Stubby  was 
a  "  queer  one."  He  was  kind  of  little  to  be  carrying 
papers  all  by  himself. 

Stubby  looked  up.  "  He  could  eat  what's  thrown 
away." 

That  was  an  error  in  diplomacy.  The  woman's 
face  hardened.  "  Mighty  little  '11  be  thrown  away 
this  winter,"  she  muttered. 

But  just  then  Mrs.  Johnson  appeared  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence  and  began  hanging  up  her  clothes 
and  with  that  Mrs.  Lynch  saw  her  way  to  justify 
herself  in  indulging  her  son.  Mrs.  Johnson  and  Mrs. 
Lynch  had  "  had  words."  "  You  just  let  him  stay 
around,  Stubby,"  she  called,  and  you  would  have  sup 
posed  from  her  tone  it  was  Stubby  who  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  "  maybe  he'll  keep  the  neigh 
bour's  chickens  out!  Them  that  ain't  got  chickens 
o'  their  own  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  the  neigh 
bours'!" 

That  was  how  it  happened  that  he  stayed;  and 
no  one  but  Stubby  knew  —  and  possibly  Stubby 
didn't  either  —  how  it  happened  that  he  was  named 
Hero.  It  would  seem  that  Hero  should  be  a  noble 
St.  Bernard,  or  a  particularly  mean-looking  bull 
dog,  not  a  stocky,  shapeless,  squint-eyed  yellow  dog 
with  one  ear  bitten  half  off  and  one  leg  built  on  an 
entirely  different  plan  from  its  fellow  legs.  Possi 
bly  Stubby's  own  spiritual  experiences  had  suggested 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG 

to  him  that  you  weren't  necessarily  the  way  you 
looked. 

The  chickens  were  pretty  well  kept  out,  though 
no  one  ever  saw  Hero  doing  any  of  it.  Perhaps 
Hero  had  been  too  long  associated  with  chasing  to 
desire  any  part  in  it  —  even  with  roles  reversed.  If 
Stubby  could  help  it,  no  one  really  saw  Stubby  doing 
the  chasing  either ;  he  became  skilled  in  chasing  when 
he  did  not  appear  to  be  chasing;  then  he  would  get 
Hero  to  barking  and  turn  to  his  mother  with,  "  Guess 
you  don't  see  so  many  chickens  round  nowadays." 

The  fellows  in  the  line  jeered  at  Hero  at  first,  but 
they  soon  tired  of  it  when  Stubby  said  he  didn't 
want  the  cur  but  his  mother  made  him  stay  around 
to  keep  the  chickens  out.  He  was  a  fine  chicken  dog, 
Stubby  grudgingly  admitted.  He  couldn't  keep  him 
from  following,  said  Stubby,  so  he  just  let  him 
come.  Sometimes  when  they  were  waiting  in  line 
Stubby  made  ferocious  threats  at  Hero.  He  was 
going  to  break  his  back  and  wring  his  head  off  and 
do  other  heartless  things  which  for  some  reason  he 
never  started  in  right  then  and  there  to  accom 
plish. 

It  was  different  when  they  were  alone  —  and  they 
were  alone  a  good  deal.  Stubby's  route  wasn't 
nearly  so  long  after  he  had  Hero  to  go  with  him. 
When  winter  came  and  five  o'clock  was  dark  and  cold 
for  starting  out  it  was  pretty  good  to  have  Hero 
trotting  at  his  heels.  And  Hero  always  wanted  to 


222  LIFTED  MASKS 

go ;  it  was  never  so  rainy  nor  so  cold  that  that  yel 
low  dog  seemed  to  think  he  would  rather  stay  home 
by  the  fire.  Then  Hero  was  always  waiting  for  him 
when  he  came  home  from  school.  Stubby  would 
sing  out,  "  Hello,  cur !  "  and  the  tone  was  such  that 
Hero  did  not  grasp  that  he  was  being  insulted.  Some 
times  when  there  was  nobody  about,  Stubby  picked 
Hero  up  in  his  arms  and  squeezed  him  —  Stubby 
had  not  had  a  large  experience  with  squeezing.  At 
those  times  Hero  would  lick  Stubby's  face  and  whim 
per  a  little  love  whimper  and  such  were  the  workings 
of  Stubby's  heart  and  mind  that  that  made  him  of 
quite  as  much  account  as  if  he  really  had  chased  the 
chickens.  Stubby,  who  had  seen  the  way  dogs  can 
look  at  you  out  of  their  eyes,  was  not  one  to  say  of 
a  dog,  "  What  good  is  he?  " 

But  it  seemed  there  were  such  people.  There  were 
even  people  who  thought  you  oughtn't  to  have  a  dog 
to  love  and  to  love  you  if  you  weren't  one  of  those 
rich  people  who  could  pay  two  dollars  and  a  half  a 
year  for  the  luxury. 

Stubby  first  heard  of  those  people  one  night  in 
June.  The  father  of  the  Lynch  family  was  sitting 
in  the  back  yard  reading  the  paper  when  Hero  and 
Stubby  came  running  in  from  the  alley.  It  was  one 
of  those  moments  when  Hero,  forgetting  the  bleak 
ness  of  his  youth,  abandoned  himself  to  the  joy  of 
living.  He  was  tearing  round  and  round  Stubby, 
barking,  when  Stubby's  father  called  out :  "  Here ! 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          223 

—  shut  up  there,  you  cur.  You  better  lie  low. 
You're  going  to  be  shot  the  first  of  August." 

Stubby,  and  as  regards  the  joy  of  living  Hero  had 
done  as  much  for  Stubby  as  Stubby  for  Hero,  came 
to  a  halt.  The  fun  and  frolic  just  died  right  out 
of  him  and  he  stood  there  staring  at  his  father,  who 
had  turned  the  page  and  was  settling  himself  to  a 
new  horror.  At  last  Stubby  spoke.  "Why's  he 
going  to  be  shot  on  the  first  of  August?  "  he  asked  in 
a  tight  little  voice. 

His  father  looked  up.  "  Why's  he  going  to  be 
shot  ?  You  got  any  two  dollars  and  a  half  to  pay  for 
him?" 

He  laughed  as  though  that  were  a  joke.  Well, 
it  was  something  of  a  joke.  Stubby  got  ten  cents 
a  week  out  of  his  paper  money.  The  rest  he  "  turned 
in." 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  paper.  There  was  an 
other  long  pause  before  Stubby  asked,  in  that  tight 
queer  little  voice :  "  What'd  I  have  to  pay  two 
dollars  and  a  half  for?  Nobody  owns  him." 

His  parent  stirred  scornfully.  "  Suppose  you 
never  heard  of  a  dog  tax,  did  you?  S'pose  they 
don't  learn  you  nothing  like  that  at  school  ?  " 

Yes,  Stubby  did  know  that  dogs  had  to  have 
checks,  but  he  hadn't  thought  anything  about  that 
in  connection  with  Hero.  He  ventured  another 
question.  "  You  have  to  have  'em  for  all  dogs, 
even  if  you  just  picked  'em  up  on  the  street 


LIFTED  MASKS 

and   took  care   of   'em   when   nobody   else  would? " 

v 

"  You  bet  you  do,"  his  parent  assured  him  genially. 
"  You  pay  your  dog  tax  or  the  policeman  comes  on 
the  first  of  August  and  shoots  your  dog." 

With  that  he  dismissed  it  for  good,  burying  him 
self  in  his  paper.  For  a  minute  the  boy  stood  there 
in  silence.  Then  he  walked  slowly  round  the  house 
and  sat  down  where  his  father  couldn't  see  him.  Hero 
followed  —  it  was  a  way  Hero  had.  The  dog  sat 
down  beside  the  boy  and  after  a  couple  of  minutes 
the  boy's  arm  stole  furtively  around  him  and  they 
sat  there  very  still  for  a  long  time. 

As  nobody  but  Hero  paid  much  attention  to  him, 
nobody  save  Hero  noticed  how  quiet  and  queer  Stubby 
was  for  the  next  three  days.  Hero  must  have  noticed 
it,  for  he  was  quiet  and  queer  too.  He  followed 
wherever  Stubby  would  let  him,  and  every  time  he  got 
a  chance  he  would  nestle  up  to  him  and  look  into 
his  face  —  that  way  even  cur  dogs  have  of  doing 
when  they  fear  something  is  wrong. 

At  the  end  of  three  days  Stubby,  his  little  freck 
led  face  set  and  grim,  took  his  stand  in  front  of 
his  father  and  came  right  out  with :  "  I  want  to 
keep  one  week's  paper  money  to  pay  Hero's  tax." 

His  father's  chair  had  been  tilted  back  against  a 
tree.  Now  it  came  down  with  a  thud.  "  Oh,  you  do, 
do  you?  " 

"  I  can  earn  the  other  fifty  cents  at  little  jobs." 

"You  can,  can  you?     Now  ain't  you  smart!" 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          225 

The  tone  brought  the  blood  to  Stubby's  face.  "  I 
think  I  got  a  right  to,"  he  said,  his  voice  low. 

The  man's  face,  which  had  been  taunting,  grew 
ugly.  "  Look  a-here,  young  man,  none  o'  your 
lip!" 

The  tears  rushed  to  Stubby's  eyes  but  he  stum 
bled  on:  "I  guess  Hero's  got  a  right  to  some  of 
my  paper  money  when  he  goes  with  me  every  day  on 
my  route." 

At  that  his  father  stared  for  a  minute  and  then 
burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  Blinded  with  tears,  the  boy 
turned  to  the  house. 

After  she  had  gone  to  bed  that  night  Stubby's 
mother  heard  a  sound  from  the  alcove  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs  where  her  youngest  child  slept.  As  the 
sound  kept  on  she  got  out  of  her  bed  and  went  to 
Stubby's  cot. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  awkwardly  but  not  un 
kindly,  "  this  won't  do.  We're  poor  folks,  Freddie  " 
(it  was  only  once  in  a  while  she  called  him  that),  "  all 
we  can  do  to  live  these  times  —  we  can't  pay  no  dog 
tax." 

As  Stubby  did  not  speak  she  added :  "  I  know 
you've  taken  to  the  dog,  but  just  the  same  you  ain't 
to  feel  hard  to  your  pa.  He  can't  help  it  —  and 
neither  can  I.  Things  is  as  they  is  —  and  nobody 
can  help  it." 

As,  despite  this  bit  of  philosophy  Stubby  was  still 
gulping  back  sobs,  she  added  what  she  thought  a 


226  LIFTED  MASKS 

master  stroke  in  consolation.  "  Now  you  just  go 
right  to  sleep,  and  if  they  come  to  take  this  dog 
away  maybe  you  can  pick  up  another  one  in  the 
fall." 

The  sobs  suddenly  stopped  and  Stubby  stared  at 
her.  And  what  he  said  after  a  long  stare  was :  "  I 
guess  there  ain't  no  use  in  you  and  me  talking  about 
it." 

"  That's  right,"  said  she,  relieved ;  "  now  you  go 
right  off  to  sleep."  And  she  left  him,  never  dream 
ing  why  Stubby  had  seen  there  was  no  use  talking 
about  it. 

Nor  did  he  talk  about  it ;  but  a  change  came  over 
Stubby's  funny  little  person  in  the  next  few  days. 
The  change  was  particularly  concerned  with  his 
jaw,  though  there  was  something  different,  too,  in 
the  light  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  straight  ahead,  and 
something  different  in  his  voice  when  he  said :  "  Come 
on,  Hero.'* 

He  got  so  he  could  walk  into  a  store  and  demand, 
in  a  hard  little  voice :  "  Want  a  boy  to  do  anything 
for  you?  "  and  when  they  said,  "  Got  more  boys  than 
we  know  what  to  do  with,  sonny,"  Stubby  would 
say,  "  All  right,"  and  stalk  sturdily  out  again. 
Sometimes  they  laughed  and  said :  "  What  could 
you  do  ?  "  and  then  Stubby  would  stalk  out,  but  pos 
sibly  a  little  less  sturdily. 

Vacation  came  the  next  week,  and  still  he  had  found 
nothing.  His  father,  however,  had  been  more  sue- 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          227 

cessful.  He  found  a  place  where  they  wanted  a  boy 
to  work  in  a  yard  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  morning. 
For  that  Stubby  was  to  get  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
week.  But  that  was  to  be  turned  in  for  his  "  keep." 
There  were  lots  of  mouths  to  feed  —  as  Stubby's 
mother  was  always  calling  to  her  neighbour  across 
the  alley. 

But  the  yard  gave  Stubby  an  idea,  and  he  earned 
some  dimes  and  one  quarter  in  the  next  week.  Most 
folks  thought  he  was  too  little  —  one  kind  lady  told 
him  he  ought  to  be  playing,  not  working  —  but  there 
were  people  who  would  let  him  take  a  big  shears  and 
cut  grass  around  flower  beds,  and  things  like  that. 
This  he  had  to  do  afternoons,  when  he  was  supposed 
to  be  off  playing,  and  when  he  came  home  his  mother 
sometimes  said  some  folks  had  it  easy  —  playing 
around  all  day. 

It  was  now  the  first  week  in  July  and  Stubby  had 
a  dollar  and  twenty  cents.  It  was  getting  to  the 
point  where  he  would  wake  in  the  night  and  find 
himself  sitting  up  in  bed,  hands  clenched.  He 
dreamed  dreams  about  how  folks  would  let  him  live 
if  he  had  ninety-nine  cents  but  how  he  only  had  nine 
ty-seven  and  a  half,  so  they  were  going  to  shoot 
him. 

Then  one  day  he  found  Mr.  Stuart.  He  was  pass 
ing  the  house  after  having  asked  three  people  if  they 
wanted  a  boy,  and  they  didn't,  and  seemed  so  sur 
prised  at  the  idea  of  their  wanting  him  that  Stubby's 


LIFTED  MASKS 

throat  was  all  tight,  when  Mr.  Stuart  sang  out: 
"  Say,  boy,  want  a  little  job?  " 

It  seemed  at  first  it  must  be  a  joke  —  or  a  dream 
—  anybody  asking  him  if  he  wanted  one,  but  the 
man  was  beckoning  to  him,  so  he  pulled  himself  to 
gether  and  ran  up  the  steps. 

"  Now  here's  a  little  package  " —  he  took  some 
thing  out  of  the  mail  box.  "  It  doesn't  belong  here. 
It's  to  go  to  three-hundred-two  Pleasant  street.  You 
take  it  for  a  dime  ?  " 

Stubby  nodded. 

As  he  was  going  down  the  steps  the  man  called: 
"  Say,  boy,  how'd  you  like  a  steady  j  ob  ?  " 

For  the  first  minute  it  seemed  pretty  mean  — 
making  fun  of  a  fellow  that  way! 

"  This  will  be  here  every  day.  Suppose  you  come 
each  day,  about  this  time,  and  take  it  over  there  — 
not  mentioning  it  to  anybody." 

Stubby  felt  weak.  "Why,  all  right,"  he  man 
aged  to  say. 

"  I'll  give  you  fifty  cents  a  week.     That  fair?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Stubby,  doing  some  quick  calcu 
lation. 

"  Then  here  goes  for  the  first  week  " —  and  he 
handed  him  the  other  forty  cents. 

It  was  funny  how  fast  the  world  could  change! 
Stubby  wanted  to  run  —  he  hadn't  been  doing  much 
running  of  late.  He  wanted  to  go  home  and  get 
Hero  to  go  with  him  to  Pleasant  street,  but  didn't. 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG  229 

No,  sir,  when  you  had  a  job  you  had  to  'tend  to 
things ! 

Well,  a  person  could  do  things,  if  he  had  to, 
thought  Stubby.  No  use  saying  you  couldn't,  you 
could,  if  you  had  to.  He  was  back  in  tune  with  life. 
He  whistled ;  he  turned  up  his  collar  in  the  old  rakish 
vra}- ;  he  threw  a  stick  at  a  cat.  Back  home  he 
jumped  over  the  fence  instead  of  going  in  the  gate 
—  lately  he  had  actually  been  using  the  gate.  And 
he  cried,  "  Get  out  of  my  sight,  you  cur ! "  in  tones 
which,  as  Hero  understood  things,  meant  anything 
but  getting  out  of  his  sight. 

He  was  a  little  boy  again.  He  slept  at  night  as 
little  boys  sleep.  He  played  with  Hero  along  the 
route  —  taught  him  some  new  tricks.  His  jaw  re 
laxed  from  its  grown-upishness. 

It  was  funny  about  those  Stuarts.  Sometimes 
he  saw  Mr.  Stuart,  but  never  anybody  else ;  the  place 
seemed  shut  up.  But  each  day  the  little  package 
was  there,  and  every  day  he  took  it  to  Pleasant 
street  and  left  it  at  the  door  there  —  that  place 
seemed  shut  up,  too. 

When  it  was  well  into  the  second  week  Stubby 
ventured  to  say  something  about  the  next  fifty  cents. 

The  man  fumbled  in  his  pockets.  Something  in 
his  face  was  familiar  to  experienced  Stubby.  It  sug 
gested  a  having  to  have  two  dollars  and  a  half  by 
August  first  and  only  having  a  dollar  and  a  quarter 
state  of  mind. 


230  LIFTED  MASKS 

"  I  haven't  got  the  change.  Pay  you  at  the  end 
of  next  week  for  the  whole  business.  That  all 
right?" 

Stubby  considered.  "  I've  got  to  have  it  before 
the  first  of  August,"  he  said. 

At  that  the  man  laughed  —  funny  kind  of  laugh, 
it  was,  and  muttered  something.  But  he  told  Stubby 
he  would  have  it  before  the  first. 

It  bothered  Stubby.  He  wished  the  man  had  given 
it  to  him  then.  He  would  rather  get  it  each  week 
and  keep  it  himself.  A  little  of  the  grown-up  look 
stole  back. 

After  that  he  didn't  see  Mr.  Stuart,  and  one  day, 
a  week  or  so  later,  the  package  was  not  in  the  box 
and  a  man  who  wore  the  kind  of  clothes  Stubby's 
father  wore  came  around  the  house  and  asked  him 
what  he  was  doing. 

Stubby  was  wary.  "  Oh,  I've  got  a  little  job  I 
do  for  Mr.  Stuart." 

The  man  laughed.  "  I  had  a  little  job  I  did  for 
Mr.  Stuart,  too.  You  paid  in  advance?  " 

Stubby  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  'Cause  if  you  ain't,  I'd  advise  you  to  look  out 
for  a  little  job  some'eres  else." 

Then  it  came  out.  Mr.  Stuart  was  broke;  more 
than  that,  he  was  "  off  his  nut."  Lots  of  people  were 
doing  little  jobs  for  him  —  there  was  no  sense  in 
any  of  them,  and  now  he  had  suddenly  been  called  out 
of  town ! 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          231 

There  was  a  trembly  feeling  through  Stubby's  in- 
sides,  but  outwardly  he  was  bristling  just  like  his 
hair  bristled  as  he  demanded :  "  Where  am  I  to  get 
what's  coming  to  me?  " 

"  'Fraid  you  won't  get  it,  sonny.  We're  all  in 
the  same  boat."  He  looked  Stubby  up  and  down  and 
then  added :  "  Kind  of  little  for  that  boat." 

"  I  got  to  have  it !  "  cried  Stubby.  "  I  tell  you,  I 
got  to ! " 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "  That  cuts  no  ice. 
Hard  luck,  sonny,  but  we've  got  to  take  our  medicine 
in  this  world.  'Taint  no  medicine  for  kids,  though," 
he  muttered. 

Stubby's  face  just  then  was  too  much  for  him. 
He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out  a  dime, 
saying :  "  There  now.  You  run  along  and  get  you 
a  soda  and  forget  your  troubles.  It  ain't  always 
like  this.  You'll  have  better  luck  next  time." 

But  Stubby  did  not  get  the  soda.  He  put  the 
dime  in  his  pocket  and  turned  toward  home.  Some 
thing  was  the  matter  with  his  legs  —  they  acted 
funny  about  carrying  him.  He  tried  to  whistle, 
but  something  was  the  matter  with  his  lips,  too. 

Counting  this  dime,  he  now  had  a  dollar  and  eighty 
cents,  and  it  was  the  twenty-eighth  day  of  July. 
"  Thirty  days  has  September  —  April,  June  and 
November  — "  he  was  saying  to  himself.  Then  July 
was  one  of  the  long  ones.  Well,  that  was  a  good 
thing!  Been  a  great  deal  worse  if  July  was  a  short 


LIFTED  MASKS 

one.  Again  he  tried  to  whistle,  and  that  time  did 
manage  to  pipe  out  a  few  shrill  little  notes. 

When  Hero  came  running  up  the  hill  to  meet  him 
he  slapped  him  on  the  back  and  cried,  "  Hello, 
Hero  1 "  in  tones  fairly  swaggering  with  bravado. 

That  night  he  engaged  his  father  in  conversation 

—  the  phrase  is  well  adapted  to  the  way   Stubby 
went   about  it.     "  How  is  it  about  —  'bout  things 
like  taxes  " —  Stubby  crossed  his  knees  and  swung 
one  foot  to  show  his  indifference  —  "  if  you  have  al 
most   enough  —  do   they   sometimes   let   you    off?" 

—  the  detachment  was  a  shade  less  perfect  on  that 
last. 

His  father  laughed  scoffingly.  "  Well,  I  guess 
not!  " 

"  I  thought  maybe,"  said  Stubby,  "  if  a  person 
had  tried  awful  hard  —  and  had  most  enough  — " 

Something  inside  him  was  all  shaky,  so  he  didn't 
go  on.  His  father  said  that  trying  didn't  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it. 

It  was  hard  for  Stubby  not  to  sob  out  that  he 
thought  trying  ought  to  have  something  to  do  with 
it,  but  he  only  made  a  hissing  noise  between  his  teeth 
that  took  the  place  of  the  whistle  that  wouldn't 
come. 

"  Kind  of  seems,"  he  resumed,  "  if  a  person  would 
have  had  enough  if  they  hadn't  been  beat  out  of  it, 
maybe  —  if  he  done  the  best  he  could — " 

His  father  snorted  derisively  and  informed  him 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          233 

that  doing  the  best  you  could  made  no  difference  to 
the  government;  hard  luck  stories  didn't  go  when 
it  came  to  the  laws  of  the  land. 

Thereupon  Stubby  took  a  little  walk  out  to  the 
alley  and  spent  a  considerable  time  in  contempla 
tion  of  the  neighbour's  chicken-yard.  When  he  came 
back  he  walked  right  up  to  his  father  and  standing 
there,  feet  planted,  shoulders  squared,  wanted  to 
know,  in  a  desperate  little  voice :  "  If  some  one  else 
was  to  give  —  say  a  dollar  and  eighty  cents  for  Hero, 
could  I  take  the  other  seventy  out  of  my  paper 
money  ?  " 

The  man  turned  upon  him  roughly.  "\Th-huh! 
That's  it,  is  it?  Tliafs  why  you're  getting  so  smart 
all  of  a  sudden  about  government!  Look  a-here. 
Just  1'me  tell  you  something.  You're  lucky  if  you 
git  enough  to  eat  this  winter.  Do  you  know  there's 
talk  of  the  factory  shuttin'  down  ?  Dog  tax !  Why 
you're  lucky  if  you  git  slwes." 

Stubby  had  turned  away  and  was  standing  with 
his  back  to  his  father,  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  And  1'me  tell  you  some'en  else,  young  man.  If 
you  got  any  dollar  and  eighty  cents,  you  give  it  to 
your  mother ! " 

As  Stubby  was  turning  the  corner  of  the  house 
he  called  after  him :  "  How'd  you  like  to  have  me 
get  you  an  automobile  ?  " 

He  went  doggedly  from  house  to  house  the  next 
afternoon,  but  nobody  had  any  jobs.  When  Hero 


LIFTED  MASKS 

came  running  out  to  him  that  night  he  patted  him, 
but  didn't  speak. 

That  evening  as  they  were  sitting  in  the  back  yard 
• —  Stubby  and  Hero  a  little  apart  from  the  others 

—  his  father  was  discoursing  with  his  brother  about 
anarchists.     They  were  getting  commoner,  his  father 
thought.     There  were  a  good  many  of  them  at  the 
shop.     They  didn't   call   themselves   that,  but  that 
was  what  they  were. 

"Well,  what  is  an  anarchist,  anyhow?"  Stubby's 
mother  wanted  to  know. 

"  Why,  an  anarchist,"  her  lord  informed  her,  "  is 
one  that's  against  the  government.  He  don't  be 
lieve  in  the  law  and  order.  The  real  bad  anarchists 
shoot  them  that  tries  to  enforce  the  laws  of  the  land. 
Guess  if  you'd  read  the  papers  these  days  you'd 
know." 

Stubby's  brain  had  been  going  round  and  round 
and  these  words  caught  in  it  as  it  whirled.  The 
government  —  the  laws  of  the  land  —  why,  it  was 
the  government  and  the  laws  of  the  land  that  were 
going  to  shoot  Hero !  It  was  the  government  —  the 
laws  of  the  land  —  that  didn't  care  how  hard  you 
had  tried  —  didn't  care  whether  you  had  been  cheated 

—  didn't  care  how  you  felt  —  didn't  care  about  any 
thing  except  getting  the  money !     His  brain  got  hot 
ter.     Well,    lie    didn't    believe    in    the    government, 
either.     He  was  one  of  those  people  —  those  anar 
chists  —  that   were   against   the   laws   of   the   land. 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG  235 

He'd  done  the  very  best  he  could  and  now  the  gov 
ernment  was  going  to  take  Hero  away  from  him  just 
because  he  couldn't  get —  cotddnt  get  —  that  other 
seven ty  cents. 

Stubby's  mother  didn't  hear  her  son  crying  that 
night.  That  was  because  Stubby  was  successful  in 
holding  the  pillow  over  his  head. 

The  next  morning  he  looked  in  one  of  the  papers 
he  was  carrying  to  see  what  it  said  about  anarchists. 
Sure  enough,  some  place  way  off  somewhere,  the  an 
archists  had  shot  somebody  that  was  trying  to  en 
force  the  laws  of  the  land.  The  laws  of  the  land  — 
that  didn't  care. 

That  afternoon  as  Stubby  tramped  around  look 
ing  for  jobs  he  saw  a  good  many  boys  playing  with 
dogs.  None  of  them  seemed  to  be  worrying  about 
whether  their  dogs  had  checks.  To  Stubby's  hot 
little  brain  and  sore  little  heart  came  the  thought 
that  they  didn't  love  their  dogs  any  more  than  he 
loved  Hero,  either.  But  the  government  didn't  care 
whether  he  loved  Hero  or  not !  Pooh !  —  what  was 
that  to  the  government?  All  it  cared  about  was 
getting  the  money.  He  stood  for  a  long  time  watch 
ing  a  boy  giving  his  dog  a  bath.  The  dog  was  try 
ing  to  get  away  and  the  boy  and  another  boy  were 
having  lots  of  fun  about  it.  All  of  a  sudden  Stubby 
turned  and  ran  away  —  ran  down  an  alley,  ran 
through  a  number  of  alleys,  just  kept  on  running, 
blinded  by  the  tears. 


236  LIFTED  MASKS 

And  that  night,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  that 
something  in  his  head  going  round  and  round,  getting 
hotter  and  hotter,  he  decided  that  the  only  thing 
for  him  to  do  was  to  shoot  the  policeman  who  came 
to  take  Hero  away  on  the  morning  of  August  first 
—  that  would  be  day  after  to-morrow. 

All  night  long  policemen  with  revolvers  stood 
around  his  bed.  When  his  mother  called  him  at  half- 
past  four  he  was  shaking  so  he  could  scarcely  get 
into  his  clothes. 

On  his  way  home  from  his  route  Stubby  had  to 
pass  a  police-station.  He  went  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  and  stood  there  looking  across.  One  of 
the  policemen  was  playing  with  a  dog ! 

Suddenly  he  wanted  to  rush  over  and  throw  him 
self  down  at  that  policeman's  feet  —  sob  out  the 
story  —  ask  him  to  please,  please  wait  till  he  could 
get  that  other  seventy  cents. 

But  just  then  the  policeman  got  up  and  went  in 
the  station,  and  Stubby  was  afraid  to  go  in  the  po 
lice-station. 

That  policeman  complicated  things  for  Stubby. 
Before  that  it  had  been  quite  simple.  The  police 
man  would  come  to  enforce  the  law  of  the  land ;  but 
he  did  not  believe  in  the  law  of  the  land,  so  he  would 
just  kill  the  policeman.  But  it  seemed  a  policeman 
wasn't  just  a  person  who  enforced  the  laws  of  the 
land.  He  was  also  a  person  who  played  with  a 
dog. 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          237 

After  a  whole  day  of  walking  around  thinking 
about  it  —  his  eyes  burning,  his  heart  pounding  — 
he  decided  that  the  thing  to  do  was  to  warn  the  po 
liceman  by  writing  a  letter.  He  did  not  know  whether 
real  anarchists  warned  them  or  not,  but  Stubby 
couldn't  get  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  killing  a  person 
without  telling  him  you  were  going  to  do  it.  It 
seemed  that  even  a  policeman  should  be  told  —  es 
pecially  a  policeman  who  played  with  a  dog. 

The  following  letter  was  pencilled  by  a  shaking 
hand,  late  that  afternoon.  It  was  written  upon  a 
barrel  in  the  Lynch  wood-shed,  on  a  piece  of  wrap 
ping  paper,  a  bristly  little  head  bending  over  it : 

•*• 

To  the  Policeman  who  comes  to  take  my  dog  'cause  I 
ain't  got  the  two  fifty — 'cause  I  tried  but  could  only 
get  one  eighty  — 'cause  a  man  was  off  his  nut  and  didn't 
pay  me  what  I  earned  — 

This  is  to  tell  you  I  am  an  anarchist  and  do  not  believe 
in  the  government  or  the  law  and  the  order  and  will 
shoot  you  when  you  come.  I  wouldn't  a  been  an  an 
archist  if  I  could  a  got  the  money  and  I  tried  to  get  it 
but  I  couldn't  get  it  —  not  enough.  I  don't  think  the 
government  had  ought  to  take  things  you  like  like  I  like 
Hero  so  I  am  against  the  government. 

Thought  I  would  tell  you  first. 

Yours  truly, 

F.  LYNCH. 

I  don't  see  how  I  can  shoot  you  'cause  where  would 
I  get  the  revolver.  So  I  will  have  to  do  it  with  the 


238  LIFTED  MASKS 

butcher  knife.  Folks  are  sometimes  killed  that  way 
'cause  my  father  read  it  in  the  paper. 

If  you  wanted  to  take  the  one  eighty  and  leave  Hero 
till  I  can  get  the  seventy  I  will  not  do  anything  to  you 
and  would  be  very  much  obliged. 

1113  Willow  street. 

The  letter  was  properly  addressed  and  sealed  — 
not  for  nothing  had  Stubby's  teacher  given  those 
instructions  in  the  art  of  letter  writing.  The  stamp 
he  paid  for  out  of  the  dime  the  man  gave  him  to  get 
a  soda  with  — •  and  forget  his  troubles. 

Now  Bill  O'Brien  was  on  the  desk  at  the  police- 
station  and  Miss  Murphy  of  the  Herald  stood  in 
with  Bill.  That  was  how  it  came  about  that  the  next 
morning  a  fat  policeman,  an  eager-looking  girl  and 
a  young  fellow  with  a  kodak  descended  into  the  hollow 
to  1113  Willow  street. 

A  little  boy  peeped  around  the  corner  of  the  house 
—  such  a  wild-looking  little  boy  —  hair  all  standing 
up  and  eyes  glittering.  A  yellow  dog  ran  out  and 
barked.  The  boy  darted  out  and  grabbed  the  dog 
in  his  arms  and  in  that  moment  the  girl  called  to 
the  man  with  the  black  box :  "  Right  now !  Quick ! 
Get  him ! " 

They  were  getting  ready  to  shoot  Hero!  That 
box  was  the  way  the  police  did  it !  He  must  —  oh, 
he  must  —  must  .  .  .  Boy  and  dog  sank  to  the 
ground  —  but  just  the  same  the  boy  was  shielding 
the  dog! 


THE  ANARCHIST:  HIS  DOG          239 

When  Stubby  had  pulled  himself  together  the  po 
liceman  was  holding  Hero.  He  said  that  Hero  was 
certainly  a  fine  dog  —  he  had  a  dog  a  good  deal  like 
him  at  home.  And  Miss  Murphy  —  she  was  choking 
back  sobs  herself  —  knew  how  he  could  earn  the 
seventy  cents  that  afternoon. 

In  such  wise  do  a  good  anarchist  and  a  good 
story  go  down  under  the  same  blow.  Some  of  those 
sobs  Miss  Murphy  choked  back  got  into  what  she 
wrote  about  Stubby  and  his  yellow  dog  and  the  next 
day  citizens  with  no  sense  of  the  dramatic  sent  money 
enough  to  check  Hero  through  life. 

At  first  Stubby's  father  said  he  had  a  good  mind 
to  lick  him.  But  something  in  the  quality  of  Miss 
Murphy's  journalism  left  a  hazy  feeling  of  there  be 
ing  something  remarkable  about  his  son.  He  con 
fided  to  his  good  wife  that  it  wouldn't  surprise  him 
much  if  Stubby  was  some  day  President.  Somebody 
had  to  be  President,  said  he,  and  he  had  noticed  it 
was  generally  those  who  in  their  youthful  days  did 
things  that  made  lively  reading  in  the  newspapers. 


xm 

AT  TWILIGHT 

A  BREEZE  from  the  May  world  without  blew 
through  the  class-room,  and  as  it  lifted  his 
papers  he  had  a  curious  sense  of  freshness 
and  mustiness  meeting.  He  looked  at  the  group  of 
students  before  him,  half  smiling  at  the  way  the 
breath  of  spring  was  teasing  the  hair  of  the  girls 
sitting  by  the  window.  Anna  Lawrence  was  trying 
to  pin  hers  back  again,  but  May  would  have  none  of 
such  decorum,  and  only  waited  long  enough  for  her 
to  finish  her  work  before  joyously  undoing  it.  She 
caught  the  laughing,  admiring  eyes  of  a  boy  sitting 
across  from  her  and  sought  to  conceal  her  pleasure 
in  her  unmanageable  wealth  of  hair  by  a  wry  little 
face,  and  then  the  eyes  of  both  strayed  out  to  the 
trees  that  had  scented  that  breeze  for  them,  looking 
with  frank  longing  at  the  campus  which  stretched 
before  them  in  all  its  May  glory  that  sunny  after 
noon.  He  remembered  having  met  this  boy  and  girl 
strolling  in  the  twilight  the  evening  before,  and  as  a 
buoyant  breeze  that  instant  swept  his  own  face  he 
had  a  sudden,  irrelevant  consciousness  of  being 
seventy-three  years  old. 

Other  eyes  were  straying  to  the  trees  and  birds 
and  lilacs  of  that  world  from  which  the  class-room 

240 


AT  TWILIGHT 

was  for  the  hour  shutting  them  out.  He  was  used 
to  it  —  that  straying  of  young  eyes  in  the  spring. 
For  more  than  forty  years  he  had  sat  at  that  desk 
and  talked  to  young  men  and  women  about  philoso 
phy,  and  in  those  forty  years  there  had  always  been 
straying  eyes  in  May.  The  children  of  some  of  those 
boys  and  girls  had  in  time  come  to  him,  and  now  there 
were  other  children  who,  before  many  years  went  by, 
might  be  sitting  upon  those  benches,  listening  to 
lectures  upon  what  men  had  thought  about  life, 
while  their  eyes  strayed  out  where  life  called.  So 
it  went  on  —  May,  perhaps,  the  philosopher  trium 
phant. 

As,  with  a  considerable  effort  —  for  the  languor 
of  spring,  or  some  other  languor,  was  upon  him  too 
—  he  brought  himself  back  to  the  papers  they  had 
handed  in,  he  found  himself  thinking  of  those  first 
boys  and  girls,  now  men  and  women,  and  parents  of 
other  boys  and  girls.  He  hoped  that  philosophy 
had,  after  all,  done  something  more  than  shut  them 
out  from  May.  He  had  always  tried,  not  so  much 
to  instruct  them  in  what  men  had  thought,  as  to 
teach  them  to  think,  and  perhaps  now,  when  May  had 
become  a  time  for  them  to  watch  the  straying  of 
other  eyes,  they  were  the  less  desolate  because  of 
the  habits  he  had  helped  them  to  form.  He  wanted 
to  think  that  he  had  done  something  more  than  hold 
them  prisoners. 

There  was  a  sadness  to-day  in  his  sympathy.     He 


LIFTED  MASKS 

was  tired.  It  was  hard  to  go  back  to  what  he  had 
been  saying  about  the  different  things  the  world's 
philosophers  had  believed  about  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  So,  as  often  when  his  feeling  for  his 
thought  dragged,  he  turned  to  Gretta  Loring.  She 
seldom  failed  to  bring  a  revival  of  interest  —  a 
freshening.  She  was  his  favourite  student.  He  did 
not  believe  that  in  all  the  years  there  had  been  any 
student  who  had  not  only  pleased,  but  helped  him  as 
she  did. 

He  had  taught  her  father  and  mother.  And  now 
there  was  Gretta,  clear-eyed  and  steady  of  gaze, 
asking  more  of  life  than  either  of  them  had  asked; 
asking,  not  only  May,  but  what  May  meant.  For 
Gretta  there  need  be  no  duality.  She  was  one  of 
those  rare  ones  for  whom  the  meaning  of  life  opened 
new  springs  to  the  joy  of  life,  for  whom  life  intensi 
fied  with  the  understanding  of  it.  He  never  said  a 
thing  that  gratified  him  as  reaching  toward  the 
things  not  easy  to  say  but  that  he  would  find 
Gretta's  face  illumined  —  and  always  that  eager  lit 
tle  leaning  ahead  for  more. 

She  had  that  look  of  waiting  now,  but  to-day  it 
seemed  less  an  expectant  than  a  troubled  look.  She 
wanted  him  to  go  on  with  what  he  had  been  saying 
about  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  But  it  was  not 
so  much  a  demand  upon  him  —  he  had  come  to  rely 
upon  those  demands,  as  it  was  —  he  had  an  odd, 
altogether  absurd  sense  of  its  being  a  fear  for  him. 


AT  TWILIGHT 

She  looked  uncomfortable,  fretted;  and  suddenly  he 
was  startled  to  see  her  searching  eyes  blurred  by 
something  that  must  be  tears. 

She  turned  away,  and  for  just  a  minute  it  seemed 
to  leave  him  alone  and  helpless.  He  rubbed  his  fore 
head  with  his  hand.  It  felt  hot.  It  got  that  way 
sometimes  lately  when  he  was  tired.  And  the  close 
of  that  hour  often  found  him  tired. 

He  believed  he  knew  what  she  wanted.  She  would 
have  him  declare  his  own  belief.  In  the  youthful 
flush  of  her  modernism  she  was  impatient  with  that 
fumbling  around  with  what  other  men  had  thought. 
Despising  the  muddled  thinking  of  some  of  her  class 
mates,  she  would  have  him  put  it  right  to  them  with 
"  As  for  yourself  — " 

He  tried  to  formulate  what  he  would  care  to  say. 
But,  perhaps  just  because  he  was  too  tired  to  say  it 
right,  the  life  the  robin  in  the  nearest  tree  was  that 
moment  celebrating  in  song  seemed  more  important 
than  anything  he  had  to  say  about  his  own  feeling 
toward  the  things  men  had  thought  about  the  human 
soul. 

It  was  ten  minutes  before  closing  time,  but  sud 
denly  he  turned  to  his  class  with:  "  Go  out-of-doors 
and  think  about  it.  This  is  no  day  to  sit  within  and 
talk  of  philosophy.  What  men  have  thought 
about  life  in  the  past  is  less  important  than  what 
you  feel  about  it  to-day."  He  paused,  then  added, 
he  could  not  have  said  why,  "  And  don't  let  the 


244  LIFTED  MASKS 

shadow  of  either  belief  or  unbelief  fall  across  the  days 
that  are  here  for  you  now."  Again  he  stopped,  then 
surprised  himself  by  ending,  "  Philosophy  should 
quicken  life,  not  deaden  it." 

They  were  not  slow  in  going,  their  astonishment  in 
his  wanting  them  to  go  quickly  engulfed  in  their 
pleasure  in  doing  so.  It  was  only  Gretta  who  lin 
gered  a  moment,  seeming  too  held  by  his  manner  in 
sending  her  out  into  the  sunshine  to  care  about  going 
there.  He  thought  she  was  going  to  come  to  the 
desk  and  speak  to  him.  He  was  sure  she  wanted  to. 
But  at  the  last  she  went  hastily,  and  he  thought, 
just  before  she  turned  her  face  away,  that  it  was  a 
tear  he  saw  on  her  lashes. 

Strange!  Was  she  unhappy,  she  through  whom 
life  surged  so  richly?  And  yet  was  it  not  true  .that 
where  it  gave  much  it  exacted  much?  Feeling  much, 
and  understanding  what  she  felt,  and  feeling  for  what 
she  understood  —  must  she  also  suffer  much?  Must 
one  always  pay? 

He  sighed,  and  began  gathering  together  his  pa 
pers.  Thoughts  about  life  tired  him  to-day. 

On  the  steps  he  paused,  unreasonably  enough  a 
little  saddened  as  he  watched  some  of  them  begin 
ning  a  tennis  game.  Certainly  they  were  losing  no 
time  —  eager  to  let  go  thoughts  about  life  for  its 
pleasures,  very  few  of  them  awake  to  that  rich  life 
he  had  tried  to  make  them  ready  for.  He  drooped 
still  more  wearily  at  the  thought  that  perhaps  the 


AT  TWILIGHT  245 

most  real  gift  he  had  for  them  was  that  unexpected 
ten  minutes. 

Remembering  a  book  he  must  have  from  the  library, 
he  turned  back.  He  went  to  the  alcove  where  the 
works  on  philosophy  were  to  be  found,  and  was  reach 
ing  up  for  the  volume  he  wanted,  when  a  sentence 
from  a  lowly  murmured  conversation  in  the  next 
aisle  came  to  him  across  the  stack  of  books. 

"  That's  all  very  well ;  we  know,  of  course,  that  he 
doesn't  believe,  but  what  will  he  do  when  it  comes  to 
himself?  " 

It  arrested  him,  coming  as  it  did  from  one  of  the 
girls  who  had  just  left  his  class-room.  He  stood 
there  motionless,  his  hand  still  reaching  up  for  the 
book. 

"Do?  Why,  face  it,  of  course.  Face  it  as 
squarely  as  he's  faced  every  other  fact  of  life." 

That  was  Gretta,  and  though,  mindful  of  the  li 
brary  mandate  for  silence,  her  tone  was  low,  it  was 
vibrant  with  a  fine  scorn. 

"  Well,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "  I  guess  he'll  have 
to  face  it  before  very  long." 

That  was  not  answered ;  there  was  a  movement  on 
the  other  side  of  the  barricade  of  books  —  it  might 
have  been  that  Gretta  had  turned  away.  His  hand 
dropped  down  from  the  high  shelf.  He  was  leaning 
against  the  books. 

"  Haven't  you  noticed,  Gretta,  how  he's  losing 
his  grip  ?  " 


246  LIFTED  MASKS 

At  that  his  head  went  up  sharply ;  he  stood  alto 
gether  tense  as  he  waited  for  Gretta  to  set  the  other 
girl  right  —  Gretta,  so  sure-seeing,  so  much  wiser 
and  truer  than  the  rest  of  them.  Gretta  would 
laugh! 

But  she  did  not  laugh.  And  what  his  strained  ear 
caught  at  last  was  —  not  her  scornful  denial,  but  a 
little  gasp  of  breath  suggesting  a  sob. 

"  Noticed  it?     Why  it  breaks  my  heart!  " 

He  stared  at  the  books  through  which  her  low, 
passionate  voice  had  carried.  Then  he  sank  to  the 
chair  that  fortunately  was  beside  him.  Power  for 
standing  had  gone  from  him. 

"  Father  says  —  father's  on  the  board,  you  know  " 
(it  was  the  first  girl  who  spoke)  — "  that  they  don't 
know  what  to  do  about  it.  It's  not  justice  to  the 
school  to  let  him  begin  another  year.  These  things 
are  arranged  with  less  embarrassment  in  the  big 
schools,  where  a  man  begins  emeritus  at  a  certain 
time.  Though  of  course  they'll  pension  him  —  he's 
done  a  lot  for  the  school." 

He  thanked  Gretta  for  her  little  laugh  of  disdain. 
The  memory  of  it  was  more  comforting  —  more  sat 
isfying —  than  any  attempt  to  put  it  into  words 
could  have  been. 

He  heard  them  move  away,  their  skirts  brushing 
the  book-stacks  in  passing.  A  little  later  he  saw 
them  out  in  the  sunshine  on  the  campus.  Gretta 
joined  one  of  the  boys  for  a  game  of  tennis.  Mo- 


AT  TWILIGHT 

tionless,  he  sat  looking  out  at  her.  She  looked  so 
very  young  as  she  played. 

For  an  hour  he  remained  at  the  table  in  the  al 
cove  where  he  had  overheard  what  his  students  had 
to  say  of  him.  And  when  the  hour  had  gone  by  he 
took  up  the  pen  which  was  there  upon  the  study 
table  and  wrote  his  resignation  to  the  secretary  of 
the  board  of  trustees.  It  was  very  brief  —  simply 
that  he  felt  the  time  had  come  when  a  younger  man 
could  do  more  for  the  school  than  he,  and  that  he 
should  like  his  resignation  to  take  effect  at  the 
close  of  the  present  school  year.  He  had  an  en 
velope,  and  sealed  and  stamped  the  letter  —  ready  to 
drop  in  the  box  in  front  of  the  building  as  he  left. 
He  had  always  served  the  school  as  best  he  could; 
he  lost  no  time  now,  once  convinced,  in  rendering 
to  it  the  last  service  he  could  offer  it  —  that  of 
making  way  for  the  younger  man. 

Looking  things  squarely  in  the  face,  and  it  was 
the  habit  of  a  lifetime  to  look  things  squarely  in  the 
face,  he  had  not  been  long  in  seeing  that  they  were 
right.  Things  tired  him  now  as  they  had  not  once 
tired  him.  He  had  less  .zest  at  the  beginning  of  the 
hour,  more  relief  at  the  close  of  it.  He  seemed  stu 
pid  in  not  having  seen  it  for  himself,  but  possibly 
many  people  were  a  little  stupid  in  seeing  that  their 
own  time  was  over.  Of  course  he  had  thought,  in  a 
vague  way,  that  his  working  time  couldn't  be  much 
longer,  but  it  seemed  part  of  the  way  human  beings 


248  LIFTED  MASKS 

managed  with  themselves  that  things  in  even  the 
very  near  future  kept  the  remoteness  of  future 
things. 

Now  he  understood  Gretta's  troubled  look  and 
her  tears.  He  knew  how  those  fine  nerves  of  hers 
must  have  suffered,  how  her  own  mind  had  wanted 
to  leap  to  the  aid  of  his,  how  her  own  strength  must 
have  tormented  her  in  not  being  able  to  reach  his 
flagging  powers.  It  seemed  part  of  the  whole  hard 
ness  of  life  that  she  who  would  care  the  most  would 
be  the  one  to  see  it  most  understandingly. 

What  he  was  trying  to  do  was  to  see  it  all  very 
simply,  in  matter-of-fact  fashion,  that  there  might 
be  no  bitterness  and  the  least  of  tragedy.  It  was 
nothing  unique  in  human  history  he  was  facing. 
One  did  one's  work ;  then,  when  through,  one 
stopped.  He  tried  to  feel  that  it  was  as  simple  as 
it  sounded,  but  he  wondered  if  back  of  many  of 
those  brief  letters  of  resignation  that  came  at  quit- 
ting-time  there  was  the  hurt,  the  desolation,  that 
there  was  no  use  denying  to  himself  was  back  of  his. 

He  hoped  that  most  men  had  more  to  turn  to. 
IVfost  men  of  seventy-three  had  grandchildren. 
That  would  help,  surrounding  one  with  a  feeling  of 
the  naturalness  of  it  all.  But  .that  school  had  been 
his  only  child.  And  he  had  loved  it  with  the  ten 
derness  one  gives  a  child.  That  in  him  which  would 
have  gone  to  the  child  had  gone  to  the  school. 

The  woman  whom  he  loved  had  not  loved  him;  he 


AT  TWILIGHT  249 

had  never  married.  His  life  had  been  called  lonely ; 
but  lonely  though  it  undeniably  had  been,  the  life 
he  won  from  books  and  work  and  thinking  had  kept 
the  chill  from  his  heart.  He  had  the  gift  of  draw 
ing  life  from  all  contact  with  life.  Working  with 
youth,  he  kept  that  feeling  for  youth  that  does  for 
the  life  within  what  sunshine  and  fresh  air  do  for 
the  room  in  which  one  dwells. 

It  was  now  that  the  loneliness  that  blights  seemed 
waiting  for  him.  .  .  .  Life  used  one  —  and 
that  in  the  ugly,  not  the  noble  sense  of  being  used. 
Stripped  of  the  fine  fancies  men  wove  around  it, 
what  was  it  beyond  just  a  matter  of  being  sucked 
dry  and  then  thrown  aside?  Why  not  admit  that, 
and  then  face  it?  And  the  abundance  with  which 
one  might  have  given  —  the  joy  in  the  giving — • 
had  no  bearing  upon  the  fact  that  it  came  at  last  to 
that  question  of  getting  one  out  of  the  way.  It  was 
no  one's  unkindness;  it  was  just  that  life  was  like 
that.  Indeed,  the  bitterness  festered  around  the 
thought  that  it  'was  life  itself  —  the  way  of  life  — 
not  the  brutality  of  any  particular  people. 
"  They'll  pension  him  —  he's  done  a  lot  for  the 
school."  Even  the  grateful  memory  of  Gretta's 
tremulous,  scoffing  little  laugh  for  the  way  it  fell 
short  could  not  follow  to  the  deep  place  that  had 
been  hurt. 

Getting  himself  in  hand  again,  and  trying  to  face 
this  as  simply  and  honestly  as  he  had  sought  to  face 


250  LIFTED  MASKS 

the  other,  he  knew  that  it  was  true  he  had  done  a 
great  deal  for  the  school.  He  did  not  believe  it  too 
much  to  say  he  had  done  more  for  it  than  any  other 
man.  Certainly  more  than  any  other  man  he  had 
given  it  what  place  it  had  with  men  who  thought. 
He  had  come  to  it  in  his  early  manhood,  and  at  a 
time  when  the  school  was  in  its  infancy  —  just  a 
crude,  struggling  little  Western  college.  Gretta 
Loring's  grandfather  had  been  one  of  its  founders 
—  founding  it  in  revolt  against  the  cramping  sec 
tarianism  of  another  college.  He  had  gloried  in 
:the  spirit  which  gave  it  birth,  and  it  was  he  who, 
through  the  encroachings  of  problems  of  adminis 
tration  and  the  ensnarements  and  entanglements  of 
practicality,  had  fought  to  keep  unattached  and 
unfettered  that  spirit  of  freedom  in  the  service  of 
truth. 

His  own  voice  had  been  heard  and  recognised,  and 
a  number  of  times  during  the  years  calls  had  come 
from  more  important  institutions,  but  he  had  not 
cared  to  go.  For  year  by  year  there  deepened  that 
personal  love  for  the  little  college  to  which  he  had 
given  the  youthful  ardour  of  his  own  intellectual 
passion.  All  his  life's  habits  were  one  with  it.  His 
days  seemed  beaten  into  the  path  that  cut  across 
the  campus.  The  vines  that  season  after  season 
went  a  little  higher  on  the  wall  out  there  indicated 
his  strivings  by  their  own,  and  the  generation  that 
had  worn  down  even  the  stones  of  those  front  steps 


AT  TWILIGHT  251 

had  furrowed  his  forehead  and  stooped  his  shoul 
ders.  He  had  grown  old  along  with  it!  His  days 
were  twined  around  it.  It  was  the  place  of  his  ef 
forts  and  satisfactions  (joys  perhaps  he  should  not 
call  them),  of  his  falterings  and  his  hopes.  He 
loved  it  because  he  had  given  himself  to  it;  loved 
it  because  he  had  helped  to  bring  it  up.  On  the 
shelves  all  around  him  were  books  which  it  had  been 
his  pleasure  —  because  during  some  of  those  hard 
years  they  were  to  be  had  in  no  other  way  —  to  or 
der  himself  and  pay  for  from  his  own  almost  ludi 
crously  meagre  salary.  He  remembered  the  excite 
ment  there  always  was  in  getting  them  fresh  from 
the  publisher  and  bringing  them  over  there  in  his 
arms ;  the  satisfaction  in  coming  in  next  day  and 
finding  them  on  the  shelves.  Such  had  been  his  dis 
sipations,  his  indulgences  of  self.  Many  things 
came  back  to  him  as  he  sat  there  going  back  over 
busy  years,  the  works  on  philosophy  looking  down 
upon  him,  the  shadows  of  that  spring  afternoon 
gathering  around  him.  He  looked  like  a  very  old 
man  indeed  as  he  at  last  reached  out  for  the  letter 
he  had  written  to  the  trustees,  relieving  them  of 
their  embarrassment. 

Twilight  had  come  on.  On  the  front  steps  he 
paused  and  looked  around  the  campus.  It  was 
growing  dark  in  that  lingering  way  it  has  in  the 
spring  —  daylight  creeping  away  under  protest, 
night  coming  gently,  as  if  it  knew  that  the  world 


LIFTED  MASKS 

having  been  so  pleasant,  day  would  be  loath  to  go. 
The  boys  and  girls  were  going  back  and  forth  upon 
the  campus  and  the  streets.  They  could  not  bear 
to  go  within.  For  more  than  forty  years  it  had 
been  like  that.  It  would  be  like  that  for  many 
times  forty  years  —  indeed,  until  the  end  of  the 
world,  for  it  would  be  the  end  of  the  world  when  it 
was  not  like  that.  He  was  glad  that  they  were  out 
in  the  twilight,  not  indoors  trying  to  gain  from  books 
something  of  the  meaning  of  life.  That  course  had 
its  satisfactions  along  the  way,  but  it  was  surely  no 
port  of  peace  to  which  it  bore  one  at  the  last. 

He  shrunk  from  going  home.  There  were  so  many 
readjustments  he  must  make,  once  home.  So,  linger 
ing,  he  saw  that  off  among  the  trees  a  girl  was  sitting 
alone.  She  threw  back  her  head  in  a  certain  way 
just  then,  and  he  knew  by  the  gesture  that  it  was 
Gretta  Loring.  He  wondered  what  she  was  think 
ing  about.  What  did  one  who  thought  think  about 
—  over  there  on  the  other  side  of  life?  Youth  and 
age  looked  at  life  from  opposite  sides.  Then  they 
could  not  see  it  alike,  for  what  one  saw  in  life  seemed 
to  depend  so  entirely  upon  how  the  light  was  falling 
from  where  one  stood. 

He  could  not  have  said  just  what  it  was  made  him 
cross  the  campus  toward  her.  Part  of  it  was  the 
desire  for  human  sympathy  —  one  thing,  at  least, 
which  age  did  not  deaden.  But  that  was  not  the 
whole  of  it,  nor  the  deepest  thing  in  it.  It  was  an 


AT  TWILIGHT  253 

urge  of  the  spirit  to  find  and  keep  for  itself  a  place 
where  the  light  was  falling  backward  upon  life. 

She  was  quiet  in  her  greeting,  and  gentle.  Her 
cheeks  were  still  flushed,  her  hair  tumbled  from  her 
game,  but  her  eyes  were  thoughtful  and,  he  thought, 
sad.  He  felt  that  the  sadness  was  because  of  him; 
of  him  and  the  things  of  which  he  made  her  think. 
He  knew  of  her  affection  for  him,  the  warmth  there 
was  in  her  admiration  of  the  things  for  which  he 
had  fought.  He  had  discovered  that  it  hurt  her 
now  that  others  should  be  seeing  and  not  he,  pained 
her  to  watch  so  sorry  a  thing  as  his  falling  below 
himself,  wounded  both  pride  and  heart  that  men 
whom  she  would  doubtless  say  had  never  appreciated 
him  were  whispering  among  themselves  about  how  to 
get  rid  of  him.  Why,  the  poor  child  might  even 
be  tormenting  herself  with  the  idea  she  ought  to  tell 
him! 

That  was  why  he  told  her.  He  pointed  to  the  ad 
dress  on  the  envelope,  saying:  "That  carries  my 
resignation,  Gretta." 

Her  start  and  the  tears  which  rushed  to  her  eyes 
told  him  he  was  right  about  her  feeling.  She  did  not 
seem  able  to  say  anything.  Her  chin  was  trembling. 

"  I  see  that  the  time  has  come,"  he  said,  "  when 
a  younger  man  can  do  more  for  the  school  than  I 
can  hope  to  do  for  it." 

Still  she  said  nothing  at  all,  but  her  eyes  were 
deepening  and  she  had  that  very  steadfast,  almost 


254  LIFTED  MASKS 

inspired  look  that  had  so  many  times  quickened  him 
in  the  class-room. 

She  was  not  going  to  deny  it !  She  was  not  going 
to  pretend ! 

After  the  first  feeling  of  not  having  got  something 
needed  he  rose  to  her  high  ground  —  ground  she  had 
taken  it  for  granted  he  would  take. 

"  And  will  you  believe  it,  Gretta,"  he  said,  rising 
to  that  ground  and  there  asking,  not  for  the  sym 
pathy  that  bends  down,  but  for  a  hand  in  passing, 
"  there  comes  a  hard  hour  when  first  one  feels  the 
time  has  come  to  step  aside  and  be  replaced  by  that 
younger  man  ?  " 

She  nodded.  "  It  must  be,"  she  said,  simply ;  "  it 
must  be  very  much  harder  than  any  of  us  can  know 
till  we  come  to  it." 

She  brought  him  a  sense  of  his  advantage  in  ex 
perience —  his  riches.  To  be  sure,  there  was  that. 

And  he  was  oddly  comforted  by  the  honesty  in 
her  which  could  not  stoop  to  dishonest  comforting. 
In  what  superficially  might  seem  her  failure  there 
was  a  very  real  victory  for  them  both.  And  there 
was  nothing  of  coldness  in  her  reserve!  There  was 
the  fulness  of  understanding,  and  of  valuing  the 
moments  too  highly  for  anything  there  was  to  be  said 
about  it.  There  was  a  great  spiritual  dignity,  a 
nobility,  in  the  way  she  was  looking  at  him.  It 
called  upon  the  whole  of  his  own  spiritual  dignity. 
It  was  her  old  demand  upon  him,  but  this  time  the 


AT  TWILIGHT  255 

tears  through  which  her  eyes  shone  were  tears  of 
pride  in  fulfilment,  not  of  sorrowing  for  failure. 

Suddenly  he  felt  that  his  life  had  not  been  spent 
in  vain,  that  the  lives  of  all  those  men  of  his  day  who 
had  fought  the  good  fight  for  intellectual  honesty 
—  spiritual  dignity  —  had  not  been  spent  in  vain 
if  they  were  leaving  upon  the  earth  even  a  few  who 
were  like  the  girl  beside  them. 

It  turned  him  from  himself  to  her.  She  was  what 
counted  —  for  she  was  what  remained.  And  he  re 
mained  in  just  the  measure  that  he  remained  through 
her ;  counted  in  so  far  as  he  counted  for  her.  It  was 
as  if  he  had  been  facing  in  the  wrong  direction  and 
now  a  kindly  hand  had  turned  him  around.  It  was 
not  in  looking  back  there  he  would  find  himself.  He 
was  not  back  there  to  be  found.  Only  so  much  of 
him  lived  as  had  been  able  to  wing  itself  ahead  —  on 
in  the  direction  she  was  moving. 

It  did  not  particularly  surprise  him  that  when 
she  at  last  spoke  it  was  to  voice  a  shade  of  that  same 
feeling.  "  I  was  thinking,"  she  began,  "  of  that 
younger  man.  Of  what  he  must  mean  to  the  man 
who  gives  way  to  him." 

She  was  feeling  her  way  as  she  went  —  groping 
among  the  many  dim  things  that  were  there.  He 
had  always  liked  to  watch  her  face  when  she  was 
thinking  her  way  step  by  step. 

"  I  think  you  used  a  word  wrongly  a  minute  ago," 
she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  You  spoke  of  being  re- 


256  LIFTED  MASKS 

placed.  But  that  isn't  it.  A  man  like  you  isn't  re 
placed  ;  he's  "  —  she  got  it  after  a  minute  and  came 
forth  with  it  triumphantly  — "  fulfilled !  " 

Her  face  was  shining  as  she  turned  to  him  after 
that.  "  Don't  you  see?  He's  there  waiting  to  take 
your  place  because  you  got  him  ready.  Why,  you 
made  that  younger  man!  Your  whole  life  has  been 
a  getting  ready  for  him.  He  can  do  his  work  be 
cause  you  first  did  yours.  Of  course  he  can  go  far 
ther  than  you  can!  Wouldn't  it  be  a  sorry  com 
mentary  on  you  if  he  couldn't  ?  " 

Her  voice  throbbed  warmly  upon  that  last,  and 
during  the  pause  the  light  it  had  brought  still  played 
upon  her  face.  "  We  were  talking  in  class  about  im 
mortality,"  she  went  on,  more  slowly.  "  There's  one 
form  of  immortality  I  like  to  think  about.  It's  that 
all  those  who  from  the  very  first  have  given  anything 
to  the  world  are  living  in  the  world  to-day."  There 
was  a  rush  of  tears  to  her  eyes  and  of  affection  to 
her  voice  as  she  finished,  very  low :  "  You'll  never 
die.  You've  deepened  the  consciousness  of  life  too 
much  for  that." 

They  sat  there  as  twilight  drew  near  to  night,  the 
old  man  and  the  young  girl,  silent.  The  laughter  of 
boys  and  girls  and  the  good-night  calls  of  the  birds 
were  all  around  them.  The  fragrance  of  life  was 
around  them.  It  was  one  of  those  silences  to  which 
come  impressions,  faiths,  longings,  not  yet  born  as 
thoughts. 


AT  TWILIGHT  257 

Something  in  the  quality  of  that  silence  brought 
the  rescuing  sense  of  its  having  been  good  to  have 
lived  and  done  one's  part  —  that  sense  which,  from 
places  of  desolation  and  over  ways  rough  and  steep 
and  dark,  can  find  its  way  to  the  meadows  of 
serenity. 


THE    END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED   FOR   FAILURE  TO   RETURN 
THIS   BOOK   ON   THE   DATE   DUE.   THE   PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY    AND    TO    $I.OO    ON     THE    SEVENTH     DAY 
OVERDUE. 

NOV    6    19 

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LD  21-100m-7,'39(402s) 

YB  67464 


912757 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


